#my little brother came in my room when i was making him and starting roasting him...

[bluupxels]

i made a family jewels founder 🧍

[star2fishmeg]

ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ | sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | six years later Quinn and y/n find themselves back in the place it started and old memories truly are precious...but so are new ones Authors Note | enjoy the (long) blurb @thehugheslover, sorry it took so long! This is only going to make sense if you read Feel This Way!!

The familiar clink of pool balls hitting each other, music at a moderate volume but mainly muffled by laughter and chatting and the back doors wide, opening the basement onto the patio where meat roasted on the barbeque under the balmy sun. Everything had stayed. The world was almost the same as they were back as teenagers but this time, they weren’t as naive, and everyone had grown up. Really grown up, into adults with jobs and lives, new ambitions and what happened six years ago were nothing but fond memories protected by the walls of the lake house. 

Y/n and Quinn sat on the sofa, turned slightly to face each other so they could look out into the rest of the room, her finger gently brushing over the stain between them. The second her skin touched the fabric, it all came flooding back like film tapes, the night Brady stayed over in particular. 

“We were so stupid, but it was a lot of fun,” she began with a chuckle, Quinn turning his head in interest, watching her trace around the splotch, “The Vodka Incident, when Brady brought that vodka, and we all thought it was fucking amazing.”

Cole’s voice groaned out from the distance, followed by Trevor and Jack’s obnoxious laughing, clearly relishing in Cole losing their game of pool. The couple giggled, glancing over at the group, their memories fading in and suddenly they were bought back to that night, and they were sixteen with three fifteen-year-olds and little Luke sat in a circle. The way Cole’s face had screwed up hideously, Jack and Trevor’s attempts to be ‘cool’ but landed them both in the bathroom and gagging and Luke tucked into her side most the night. 

“Yeah, Luke used to cling to you all the time, he was literally your shadow,” he said, watching Luke take a cocky bow after a successful turn, “and Brady, oh my God, you two used to torture me, like, come on, ‘who do you currently have a crush on?’ while you were sitting on my lap? You two killed me.”

Y/n laughed fondly, watching Brady enter the basement waving tongs like a magic wand, passionately interrupting the guys by fact checking them about something too muffled to make out from where she was sat. She then remembered the argument she and Brady fell into that everyone retold as if they’d thrown fists at each other, “Honestly, I thought you’d be jealous that I’m close with Brady too, but I was so wrong.”

“How about we not bring up my teenage insecurity, I felt so lame,” he smiled, hand taking hers and interlacing their fingers. He remembered that part too well, Jack and Luke loved to bring it up with him because for them, it was peak comedy and a learning curve on what not to do. Watching it happen was not as funny, but Quinn was their older brother, so how could it not be funny? “You don’t even understand, y/n, I got a scolding, from Jack.”

“Well, I was also lame so we’re even. Luke told my brother about the whole thing and that fucker did not let me live it down.” She grinned and placed a kiss on his nose, “You know what he said? ‘Yeah, everyone knew Quinnifer was, like, in love with you’ the little loser.” 

He groaned playfully at the nickname, even after all the years her brother still called him that. He really couldn’t escape that one, he’d somehow obtained it during college, y/n’s brother just started calling him Quinnifer out of the blue and his only explanation being that the women love it and it’s catchy, but it was better than other thing’s he’d been called.

Looking back over at the group, their friends that’d grown up with them, but whose personalities hadn’t changed, they wondered what it’d be like if they were sixteen again, and what they’d do differently. But they weren’t sixteen anymore and all the angst had been and gone, that chapter closed. Quinn was captain of the Vancouver Canucks and y/n was flying in her own career, and while they’d achieved so much by twenty-five, Quinn still had a list he wanted before he could feel satisfied.

Moonlight shimmering over the ripples of the lake, warm lanterns illuminating along the dock just like it always had. Y/n and Quinn’s bare feet padded along the wood leisurely, hands encased in each other’s and not a word spoken between them, they just needed a bit of peace away from everyone, even just for a moment. Passing the boats harboured up, Mila came to mind. Not in any other way than what happened that day and how he felt y/n’s desperate, burning glares from the other side of the boat, how he wished it was y/n breasts pressed against his shoulders and not some random girl’s. 

“I should’ve just told you how I felt from the start,” Quinn mumbled, but his voice clear from the serenity of the dock, nothing but crickets singing and distant chatter, “Like, we wouldn’t have had to go through that confusing, are-we-are-we-not phase. I can’t believe I was such a pussy.” 

Y/n giggled, swinging their arms, “Don’t blame yourself, I was also responsible. I told most the story to some friends in college, and even they thought it was obvious we liked each other. I sort of wish we hadn’t had that situationship, like, we were just hurting ourselves.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. Had me crying myself to sleep, it was fucking stupid.” 

“I know, Jack told me the night of the Vodka Incident, he saw you crying when we were going to sleep.” She didn’t need Jack to tell her Quinn cried that night, she felt his tears on her skin and the way he’d squeezed her like she would evaporate, his favourite teddy bear. She just never said anything, no need to bring up the painful past when they were living in their own paradise in the future. 

The more time she spent in the lake house, the more the memories swirled in her mind, not dwelling just remembering the times she couldn’t during the hockey season. The lake was a sanctuary, a museum of youth that held so many minor details you’d never see unless you were searching for them, like the names etched into the decking, aged but still prominent.

Quinn glanced down, barely reading the names scratched into the wood until he walked over something he distinctively remembered scratching with Brady, right before they were off to college; Q + y/n in a heart. He stopped right above it, tugging y/n back to face him, sweat forming on the back of his neck with butterflies in his stomach. Y/n blinked twice at him before raising a brow. He pulled his hand away, wiping both on his shorts before taking a deep breath.

“Uh, hey, listen…” his eyes shifted to her ‘Q’ necklace, to her eyes and then back to the etching on the floorboards before her necklace again.

“Q?” she asked, head flooding with multiple scenarios, piecing together location and their ages, his sweating, the fizzling in her chest and down to her stomach, “Oh God, you’re not getting traded, are you?”

His eyes widened, “Huh? No, no, Jesus no. It’s uh…well…um, just wanted to tell you how much I love you and appreciate you. You’ve, um, been by my side forever and I’ve been, uh, thinking about the future…”

He dropped to one knee, sliding a little, velvet box from his pocket and held it out in front of her, eyes sparkling under all the little lamps but more importantly because when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The most caring, supportive, girlfriend. His best friend who, no matter what, never gave up on him. He gazed at her with dilated pupils that may have well been hearts. Y/n’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she gasped gently, hands covering her mouth, and she struggled to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Y/n L/n, I have loved you since we were fifteen and only you can make me feel this way. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, in sickness and in health. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Quinn’s voice shook, not a filler word tumbling out for once. All those days rehearsing his speech in the mirror paid off, all that stress lifting off his shoulders and she watched his hands tremble.

Y/n nodded desperately, tears spilling down her cheeks, “Yes, of course!” 

He grinned from ear to ear, corners of his eyes creasing as his eyes watered, wiggling the ring - polished with her birthstone - from the cushioning and sliding it onto her finger, his arms wrapping around her waist firmly. He held her close into his chest, spinning her around with his face buried in her shoulder, his heart swelling. When they rounded back to their original spot, they melted into each other’s bodies as they always had, t-shirts soaking up the salty tears of joy, the realisation of how far they’d come hitting them like bricks. Y/n and Quinn Hughes, forever and always. Their new chapter, with new adventures and the start of their own little family one day.

small worlds | @bunbunbl0gs

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[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt

Your best friend has warned you to stay far, far away from her younger brother — infamous party boy, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish. However, when she asks you to be her maid of honor in her wedding, you and Johnny end up closer than you ever expected.

Soap x Reader AU

Link to AO3

JUNE

You shouldered your backpack as you waited in the aisle of the train, sleep-deprived and hungry. When Hamish had called you to let you in on his little surprise, your heart had leapt in your chest for your best friend, Brigette MacTavish. She and Hamish had been together for nearly two years, and he had finally worked up the nerve to pop the question.

Brigette thought Hamish was just coming over for a Sunday roast, but you were showing up as the red herring. While she was distracted and fussing over you, Hamish could quietly panic until dinner was served, and you could take the pictures. You were glad to help him, you really were, and the MacTavish cottage was only an hour outside of Glasgow, so you didn’t mind, but your work had been exhausting lately, and your body ached for your own bed.

You hailed a cab on the app and waited in the cool night air for your ride to arrive. It was a cold one, and your Floridian bones weren’t used to it yet, even after five years of graduate school at the University of Glasgow. You were a Shakespeare scholar, and you loved every moment. It was just more demanding than ever, and you could barely meet the deadlines as it was. Now, you had a wedding to help plan, and you were torn between excitement and stress.

A clean Saab pulled into the gravel lot of the train station, and a cheery old man popped his head out,

“Where to, lass?”

The cabbie smelled like coffee and smoke as you climbed inside. You handed him a slip of paper with her house number on it,

“Old Kilpatrick, please. Here’s the address.”

A quick ride and you were dropped off at your destination, eager to see Ham and Pidge. Brigette hated her nickname, but it had stuck to her like glue. Her younger brother, Johnny MacTavish, had given it to her ever since he was a little boy, unable to fully form the proper sounds until it was too late. Pidge caught on like wildfire, and there was no escape.

Johnny was famous for making trouble around these parts. You’d never met the man, but you’d probably slept in his room more often than he had in the past year. When you stayed over with Pidge, you slept in his bed and wore his old, soft Rangers football tees. But, Johnny was a sergeant in the SAS, and he never took leave. When he did have to come home, his sister would complain about him staying in strangers’ beds instead of his own. She’d warned you from the start,

“Don’t look my wee brother in the eye, or he’ll hypnotize you like he does to every lass who comes within six feet of him.”

Pidge called Johnny a playboy, a womanizer, and a lush. She smacked him on the back of his head when he came home with another hickey on his neck, and by the time he went back to his deployment, Brigette said she had to chase the women out of the front garden like stray cats looking for their Tom.

“Promise me you won’t touch Johnny boy without gloves and a hazmat suit.”

You’d always promised you wouldn’t get involved with her brother. It seemed like an easy enough promise to keep with a man who was never home. His photos were few and far between, but it was obvious there wasn’t a girl north or south of Hadrian’s wide wall who would turn him down. Johnny’s boyish grin, his striking blue eyes, and his devilish mohawk made for a terrifying triple threat. Combine that with the body of a Spartan warrior and he was a sure weapon. Lucky for you, you were certain he’d never even look your way.

You knocked on the MacTavishes’ door and waited for her to crack it open for you. When she did, she looked astonished, but she wasted no time in hugging you around the neck and squealing with delight.

“What are you doing here, babe? I thought Hamish was takin’ the piss when he said you were on your way, haverin’ on about settin’ three plates for dinner. Come in! Come in, ya dafty. Give us your bags. Go on. I’ll put ya up in Johnny’s room,” she shooed you into the parlor and yanked the backpack from you, strong as hell for her small size.

You found Hamish in the kitchen, minding the potatoes, testing them with a fork to see if they were done.

“Hammy! Show it to me right this second, or else,” you laughed, whispering as low as you could.

His wide, bright smile was framed by his full, dark brown lips, and his deep skin gleamed. He was glowing like a virgin, and just about as nervous as one.

“Okay, but quick as you can,” he tugged the ring from his pocket and showed it to you.

Hamish’s hands trembled, and you clutched his palm in yours, shaking your head

“It’s beautiful. She’s going to love it.”

He smiled at you with joy and gratitude, but as soon as you heard Pidge coming down the stairs, he pocketed the ring as fast as he could, turning back to the food, nervously stirring potatoes that didn’t need to be stirred.

You poured a generous glass of wine for you and your hosts, making sure Brigette was distracted until dinner was served. You caught up on all the latest gossip. Pidge was the primary source for the juiciest news. As a librarian, people from all over would come to tell her things that they probably shouldn’t have told anyone, ever. And when a new romance novel came out, Pidge had the scoop on just how spicy it was. A five alarm fire on Pidge’s scale was a hard score to achieve, but the books that earned it, really fucking earned it.

“…and apparently, while she was out with Pink Shoes’ mister, the Skateboard Dad was out with Pink Shoes! Can you believe it?”

All of her gossipers had codenames. She was mindful about privacy, but you’d been hearing about these people’s dirty laundry for so long, it felt like you knew them well enough to come around for Christmas dinner.

“Here we are, ladies,” Hamish set down your heaping plate and slowly sat in his chair, looking like he’d seen a ghost between the oven and the fridge. You smiled at him, sending the strongest vibes you could with your smile, praying for him to hold it together.

He didn’t.

“Actually,” the noise of his chair scooting back away from the table was grating and a bit of a shock, but when he paused, it was dead silent. He continued, “Brigette, babe, I just…I want to say that, um, I don’t…uh…”

Pidge looked concerned. Her bright blue eyes gleamed as she gazed at her tall, dark, and handsome boyfriend. She dropped her fork and turned to face him, giving him her full attention. He was a full professor of biology and very rarely was he inarticulate. She checked on him,

“What is it, darling? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, grabbing her hands in his, bending down on one knee so he could be eye-level with her,

“Brigette. It’s quite obvious to me that I can’t live another moment without you. Please, say you’ll marry me before I come apart like a total idiot.”

“Hamish! What?” She was beaming, but still a little confused and shocked by his proposal.

You were catching the entire moment on your phone, trying to keep your hand from shaking with excitement as you did so, holding in your joy. Hamish pulled the ring from his pocket and Brigette gasped, all of the air left her lungs in a shaky sigh, and she began to sob. It was the most picturesque response, and you couldn’t have been happier for her.

After she had hugged him around the neck a hundred times, gasping and laughing as he told her his secrets and showed her your texts, she threw herself into your arms. Her hair was soft in the way that a girl’s hair was supposed to be, and you wondered if yours would ever feel that way. She smelled like the sun and old books, warm and nostalgic.

“God! I cannae believe you kept this from me! You’ve got the worst poker face. I never thought you’d be able to stand it,” she pinched your arm, gently teasing you.

“I know,” you admitted, “It wasn’t easy. Hamish had to talk me down from the ledge more than once.”

“Well, you’ll be my maid of honor, of course!” She squealed, pausing for a moment, remembering how busy you were, “Right, babe?”

You nodded, already thinking about the sleepless nights and missed deadlines,

“Of course!”

Hamish took your plates after you were done eating, and his warm voice boomed from the kitchen,

“This calls for champagne, right, ladies?”

He received two very loud “yes” shouts in agreement. You drank and talked until it was well past midnight, and with a goodnight hug, you sent the lovebirds to bed.

In your room (his room), you dug through Johnny’s old tee shirt drawer. You loved staying with Pidge, because her brother had the softest tee shirts in the world. Sleeping in them was like a buttery, smooth, transcendent experience and you were glad he wasn’t around to stop you from wearing them. You’d be mortified if he found out, but he was off in some terror-filled Green Zone, and these big, glorious tees were just languishing here unused.

You quickly spotted your favorite. It was a blue Rangers shirt made to look like a jersey with the name McCoist on the back. You clutched it to your chest, inhaling the smell of oranges and clove, mixed with some other human scent you couldn’t quite place. The sheets smelled just like it, too. You kept forgetting to ask Pidge what detergent she used.

The shirts he had in his old dresser were so big on you, you imagined he must have been tall his whole life, and wide. You never wore anything underneath, savoring the sensations of the fabric all over your body and reveling in it. You threw your hair into a high bun and padded back into the kitchen to get a warm cup of sleepytime tea before calling it a night.

You put the kettle on and opened the cabinet to reach for your favorite tea box, stretching up so that the shirt barely skated across the edge of your ass cheeks.

Then, you heard a low wolf whistle. Your heart stopped beating. You turned around as slowly as you could, paralyzed.

There was a man looming in the foyer in black riot gear, hoisting two huge rucksacks over his shoulder, staring right at you. You gasped, wanting to scream but no sound was coming out.

He stepped toward you. His eyes were blue, just like Brigette’s, but he was so very tall. His muscles were huge, bursting from his sleeveless tank and stretching out of his gear vest. Covered in guns and canisters and ammunition of all kinds, he looked absolutely terrifying. On his head, he had a shaggy, grown-out mohawk, laying flat and unstyled. His eyes were blackened with soot. When he glared at you, you thought you might melt to the floor in fear, until he opened his mouth,

“You’re a pretty little thief, you are. Better gimme back my favorite shirt, hen, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Johnny?” You hoped beyond measure that you had matched old photos to this new, dangerously handsome face.

He halted his approach, his features softening immediately, reminding you of the pictures of him you had a habit of studying in the hallway.

“Yeah…who are you, lass?”

You told him your name, and he nodded,

“Ah, Pidge won’t shut up about you. What are you doin’ here a’ this hour? I just got in from my tour. Got a note from Hammie that it was urgent.”

Johnny dropped his bags and came closer to join you in the kitchen. The soft light from the stove cast delicate shadows over his bright eyes and golden skin. He looked like a dream. He reached toward you and you flinched. A low, sarcastic chuckle resonated in his chest,

“Easy. Just keepin’ the kettle from keenin’.”

Studying you like an explorer in a new land, his eyes watched your every move, as if trying to memorize your skin like a map. He moved the steaming pot to a cold burner and you watched as the white hissing clouds died back down. You decided to break the ice, smiling knowingly at him,

“Good to finally meet you, Johnny. I’ve heard…so much about you.”

He took your hand in his and shook it once, dropping it and grabbing his own tea bag from the cabinet, plopping yours and his in their respective cups. It was an easy reach for him, and he grinned,

“It’s all lies. So, what’s the craic? What was so urgent?”

“Hamish proposed,” you said, watching his mouth fall open in shock.

“You’re takin’ the piss.”

“No, it’s true. Look,” you showed him the video.

The way his eyes gleamed, full of emotion, as he watched his sister agree to Hamish’s proposal was breathtaking. Surely this was not the same Johnny famous for accidentally inviting his two flings to the same Christmas dinner. He didn’t seem like the type.

Then, the sergeant leaned in closer to you, situating his enormous shoulder behind yours, getting a closer look at your screen, and you could smell him. That familiar, delicious, earthy citrus made you fall apart. It was nearly edible, and the fact that it emanated from such an attractive man made it that much more intense. No wonder he had women crawling all over him. The thoughts that invaded your mind made you blush.

His smile was back, and you never wanted it to leave,

“Tha’s fuckin’ brilliant. She’s asleep?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Treading off down the hall, he knocked on Brigette’s door. You couldn’t see them, but you heard her answer it, the wood was creaking and popping from age and weight.

“Johnny boy? Is that you, you fuckin’ numpty!? Brother,” your friend’s voice was muffled as if she was crushed to his wide chest, “I’m getting married.”

“Let’s see it, then, Pidge.”

There was a span of silence, and then you heard him say in a low tone, unaware that his voice was carrying down the hall,

“You put a fit lassie in my shirt as a part of the occasion, or…?”

The sound of a slap on a heavy body reverberated along the wall, then a dark warning,

“You. Will. Not -“

“I dinnae ken what you’re abusin’ me for, Pigeon! I’m a saint!”

“Johnathan Fergus Euan MacTavish, she’s off-limits! You’ll not lay a hand on that girl’s pretty wee head, or I swear on Mother Mary and all the actual fuckin’ saints…”

“No promises, Pidge. If she wasn’t such a smoke show, you might have had a dog in the fight, but a gorgeous wee hen making tea in my kitchen wearing my fuckin’ shirt; it’s enough to make a lad start sinnin’.”

“Start! Tell me when you stopped. Is she out there? Oh, fuckin’ hell, you arsehole.”

You heard footsteps. You spun around and pretended to fuss with the tea.

“Babe! You met Johnny?” Pidge looked red in the face, and Johnny looked redder.

“Yeah, just came home. Showed him the video,” you shrugged.

“Great, this is just great,” Pidge forced a smile onto her face, and you got the sense that this was anything but great.

After not a small amount of insisting, you ended up in his bed and he slept on the sofa. So, when you awoke in the morning to the heavy weight of a body sinking into the mattress, you jolted up, thinking that he’d come to start sinning with you and you’d have to somehow find the inner strength to fight him off. Pidge would kill you both. Based on her reaction last night, you knew it in your bones.

But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was sitting on the edge, digging in the side table for his phone charger. He tugged on the jumble of wires and acted surprised when you groaned out a quiet,

“G’Morning…”

“Ah, hey, lass. Sorry to wake you. Goin’ down to the shops for coffees. I always -”

“You bring them to Pidge your first morning back, I know. She told me,” you smiled and then smiled wider when he looked overjoyed with your knowledge of his fraternal lore.

“Pidge mentioned that?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, she loves it.”

He looked…healed, somehow, like you’d added space into his heart.

“Well, you’re part of the tradition now, so what’s your order?”

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. You laughed and answered him,

“Chai latte, please. Let me give you some money, hang on…”

You started to dig below the bed to find your bag, but he was already walking out the door,

“Back in two shakes, bonnie.”

As the door clicked closed, you lay in the man’s bed, in his room, in his house, in his shirt, and you wondered what exactly you’d gotten yourself into. It had been all fine and proper when he was just a cute face in a picture frame, but now that you could feel his heat and see his eyes looking at you, and hear that warm voice - and gods, his scent…

“Shit,” you said to nobody and everybody at the same time.

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Chapter 02

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Michael & Peter

Trip for two (Part 4)

The trip is something special for Michael. What he had always experienced with his father, he was now experiencing with Peter. And slowly their hunger started to kick in. "I'm curious to see how this combination tastes. Garlic, paprika and tomato…"/ "Believe me, it tastes fantastic together. And the good thing is, we'll both stink…"/ "hehe, definitely".

After the first bite, Peter wasn't quite so enthusiastic. "mh…hm, maybe we should have fished somewhere first"/ "And where? All the lakes here have practically been filled in"/ "hmm…"/ "See… Oh man, I miss our beach. We really had a lot of fun there"/ "Yes… And there was good fish"… Even though he wasn't necessarily thrilled with the taste of the roasted vegetables, Peter ate everything anyway, after all, he was hungry too.

After dinner, Michael didn't want to lie down in the tent straight away. Instead, he lay down on the blanket in front of the tent and looked up at the night sky. Peter joined him a short time later "Are you OK?"/ "mhm. It's so quiet out here. Even though there are no more cars in the city, everything is still somehow… loud."/ "It is. There's hammering, drilling, people are trying to get their houses warm for the winter".

"Do you think everything will be a bit more normal here again one day? I mean… I've got used to all the walking, it's not wrong that there are no more cars, but… there's just so much missing. In summer it was always nice to be on the beach or at the fairground…"/ "mhm. Now we have to provide entertainment here ourselves".

"I'm not just talking about entertainment. We used to be able to just go into a store with our pocket money and buy whatever we wanted. A magazine, or lemonade". Peter thought for a moment and smiled. "Or a bag of potato chips, man, that would be great now"/ "hnhn, yes, or cookies…"/ "hehe. No, they should first make sure that we all have a working heating system. You know… I think there's something going on in the background…" Peter's voice became more serious.

"Do you think…they're deliberately not giving us any help here? It's been almost a year now… They should have asked about us a long time ago. I mean… Three people came back, they found a way back here…"/ "Exactly… Actually, someone from the military or some other aid organization should have turned up here a long time ago".

"Do you think they've forgotten us? Or think we're all dead?"/ "It's possible. Certainly not forgotten… But you've experienced what happened here yourself. Maybe no one wants to look… but I still have the feeling that someone here knows exactly what's going on."

"I think … that the Altos know something. I mean… Have they ever helped us in all this time? We kids in particular should have been given better support. I don't know what I would have done if Xander hadn't turned up on our doorstep one day…" Peter nodded in agreement. "Yeah, even if he screws up now and then, he takes care of you guys…hmm, do you think he might know something?".

"I don't know, I don't talk to him about his work and I don't think he would tell me anything. Besides, he's often pretty exhausted when he gets home, so I don't want to bug him…"/"hhh, oh man. ". Peter rubbed his eyes, he'd been up a long time and it was quite late. "Let's go to sleep now, shall we? " / "mhm."

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While Peter and Michael are already in their sleeping bags, Xander is a little surprised that evening. "hm. You do realize that this is my bed, don't you?"/ "I know that. But if Michael's not there, I don't want to sleep alone in the room"/ "ah… OK, then… Shall I read you something again? But the three little pigs are not for the night, that's an explicit instruction from your brother"/"hm, then another story…".

A children's book, appropriate, but not quite age-appropriate. Bella has long since outgrown the level of knowledge she gains from this book. She knows that herself and she's sure Xander knows that too. But it's something light, something that doesn't strain the mind too much, but also tires you out at some point because of all the colorful pictures. "Well, and that was triangles, circles and lots of other shapes."

After the girl fell asleep, Xander was in his own thoughts. "I got used to you guys really fast. Maybe… I should go check on her after all? I'm off tomorrow… Finally. And I haven't had a chance to check downstairs to see what's going on. Nick has the key. But a locked door isn't necessarily an obstacle, hnhn. Sleep well, girl".

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End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover ☺

poses partly by @justanothersimsblog (I don't know if I have chosen the right simblr to mark, unfortunately your Sims 3 Poses download page is not accessible?)…

[final-girl96]

Killer Geek Chapter Twelve

Next Day

When I woke up to the sun shining through the window. I felt a presence behind me and looked down to see an arm wrapped around my waist. I turned my head to see Randy sleeping behind me. I carefully picked his arm up and slowly slipped out of the bed and tiptoed out of the room. When I walked downstairs and into the kitchen I heard Casey talking to someone but couldn't hear the other person responding. It wasn't until I looked around the corner that I saw her on the phone in the kitchen.

“I can't just leave, Steve. I'll see you when we come home tomorrow.” There was a long pause before she started speaking again. “I'm going to break up with him. But I can't do it right now while on this weekend trip.” Another pause, “I love you too.” My eyebrows shot up at those words that just came out of her mouth. So Casey was cheating on Stu. My best friend was cheating on my brother's best friend. How great. I stepped out from where I was hiding and cleared my throat.

Casey jumped and spun around. “Hey, mom, I have to go. Well, be home tomorrow sometime. Love you.” I raised my brows as she hung up. “Hey, yn. That was just my mom.” I held my hand up to stop her from talking. “You're cheating on Stu with Steve? As in, like Steve Orth?” Her mouth dropped open, and she stumbled over her words. “Please don't tell Stu! I was going to break up with him after this trip.”

“You better or I'll be forced to say something to him myself. Stu might be a little dumb sometimes, but he's still a good guy, and he does not deserve that shit. If you didn't want to be with him then you should have broken up with him.” She let out a sigh and looked down. “I know. I'm sorry, I'll tell him after this weekend.”

“Tell who what?” Stu came into the kitchen. He walked up behind Casey and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Nothing. It's not important just girl talk,” she said. He hummed and kissed the side of her head. “What's for breakfast?” He asked, going to the fridge. A few minutes later everyone else was walking down the stairs and into the kitchen as well.

The rest of the weekend went pretty smooth. We went swimming in the lake during the afternoon when it was warm out. Sat out by the fire at night, telling stories, and roasting marshmallows. We watched horror movies even though Sidney wasn't that big of a fan of them. Randy was in charge of bringing movies and of course most of them had Jamie Lee Curtis in them. It sucked when we had to pack the cars up and go home after making sure the cabin was cleaned up and all the doors and windows were locked.

The next day at school I saw Casey walking down the hall with Steve Orth, his arm slung around her shoulders. She had his Leatherman jacket on, the sleeves bunched up, and the bottom hanging past her waist. I shook my head and turned to open my locker. “Did you know?” I jumped at the sudden voice and turned to look to my left. Stu stood there, looking down the hall the way Casey went. “What?”

“Casey and Steve! Did you know she was cheating on me?” His blue eyes snapped to me, pain and anger flashing in them. “No. I mean, I heard her on the phone on Saturday. I told her she had to tell you. But hey, you can ask Tatum out now.” That put a smile on his face and he leaned against the lockers. “You're right. Now, what's going on with you and Meeks?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk growing on his stupid face. “What? No…nothings going on.”

He let out a laugh, “Oh, please, I see the way he looks at you. How you get nervous around him.” I scoffed and cast my attention back to my task of grabbing my books for the next class. “He doesn't look at me in any way.” Stu laughs again and Shakes his head. “He looks at you like he's undressing you. Definitely thinking about all the things he wants to do with you. Billy even sees it. He's Threatened Randy already because of it.”

I shook my head, closing my locker, and turning to face him. “That's ridiculous, Stu. He doesn't see me like that,” I said. “He kissed you! He definitely likes you.” He's not wrong, Randy did kiss me. But that doesn't mean he likes me. He could just be doing all this to try and get in my pants. I've seen him look at other girls. How he would rack his eyes over their bodies. They don't give him a chance though. They only see him as the film geek. The guy who knows everything about movies, especially horror movies.

“Whatever, Stu, I need to get to my next class.” I slammed my locker closed and walked to my next class. Of course, the whole class I couldn't focus. I was too busy overthinking about everything. The kiss. Randy asking me out on a date. Waking up next to him this weekend. Did he really like me? I'm a year younger than my brother and his friends. They're all juniors. I'm only a sophomore. I'm only sixteen, not old enough to date anyone in the eyes of my brother. I don't know if dad would even notice.

After school I went straight home, did my homework, and spent the rest of the time in my room until I got hungry. When I went downstairs Billy and Stu were at the kitchen table. They were talking about something but stopped when I walked into the room. “What're you two up to?” I asked, opening the fridge. “Nothing. Nothing that concerns you anyway,” Billy says. I rolled my eyes and pulled a soda out of the fridge, sat it on the counter, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.

“Okay, sorry for interrupting you two finally admitting you're gay for each other.” I poured the soda into the glass and walked to pick up the phone on the counter to order something to be delivered. “Shut the fuck up! Go back to your room and stick your nose back in a book.” I opened the drawer in front of me and pulled takeout menus out.

“So defensive. What the hell do you lovers want? Chinese, pizza, burgers…” I look at them to see a red face Billy clenching his jaw and giving me a death glare. Stu was sitting there trying not to laugh at how defensive and pissy Billy got. “Burgers and fries It is. Did you ask Tatum out yet, Stu?” I asked, picking up the phone to dial the restaurant's number. “Have you admitted that Randy wants to bend you over and fuck you senseless?”

My eyes fly up to look at him, heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. “Shut the fuck up, Stu!” Billy and I say in unison. What an asshole. But to be honest I can't help but imagine such a scenario happening. Maybe being chased through the dark house only to be caught and at his mercy.

[silentmoths]

As Fragile as a Brick wall

Masterlist||First||Previous||Next

It's me, pulling my ass out of writers block hell to stress write a chapter because everything in my life is in boxes and I hate it.

Chapter 6: You really thought asking her out to dinner was a good idea, huh bud?

Zhongli x Afab (fem pronoun) Reader

NSFW elements in later chapters

Multi-chapter, Royal AU, angst, mentions of death, eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort (Wonderful header image made by the wonderful @ainescribe)

You had definitely cracked a rib.

The blooming bruise, the pain when you breathed in, moved too quickly, or gods help you, sneeze? It was a dead giveaway. 

You were no damsel though, funnily enough, your ex-fiance had once shown you how he went about bandaging himself up after a particularly rough tussle with the captain of his own guard. So with little time on your hands, that's what you do. Strapping your torso in a way that prevented too much movement, but was also easily enough hidden beneath your clothing for the evening.

Between your thigh and your rib, half of you didn’t particularly want to attend this dinner with the king…but there was a part of you, that scared, lonely teenager who had lost her rock to lean on, that needed to know.

You stubbornly hide your limp as you make your way to the dining room. When was the last time this room had even seen use? You weren’t too sure. Not since your mother had died… none of you could stomach being in the same room as one another lest insults begin to fly. 

Seems even Zhongli’s touch had blown away the dust and dreary that had long since settled here. Dingy greys are replaced with warm reds, rich golds and warm, soft velvets. The room was…inviting, for the first time in many years. The table is set for only two, it seems he wanted to speak with you in confidance, though you had somewhat hoped that your place would be at the opposite end of the table, no such luck. One place set at the head, and the other to the left. 

He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d ordered old favourites. Roasted duck and candied orange, root vegetables, stews, the kitchens freshest rolls and hand-churned butter, smells from your childhood that flood your senses and make you feel warm and soft. Zhongli looks up from the scroll he had been examining and smiles, warm, bright and hopeful. 

“I’ll admit…I’m surprised you came…” He murmurs as you slowly sink into your seat with a slow, quiet exhale from your nose; like hell you were about to show weakness, no matter how badly your torso throbbed beneath the bandages. “But I’m glad… You must have many questions.” 

“Well you’re certainly not wrong.” You grunt, occupying yourself by washing back a flagon of mead, hoping the drink would dull something, anything.

“Shall I start from the beginning?” He asks, his warm smile and kind gaze never once leaving you, even as he takes a bite of his dinner.

“Well, I’d assume that would be the logical option.” You know you’re being short with him…but considering, well, everything, you felt like you at least had that right.

Zhongli nods, taking another slow bite of his food.

“It was the day your father started torturing innocent civilians…” he begins, lacing his fingers together as he stares deeply into the cup of red wine before him, watching his reflection distort back at him. “I had known for many months at that point that your father had truly begun to lose himself…but that day…something in his eyes…any semblance of the man he used to be…gone.” “You say that as if my father was ever a good man.” you reply, trying to recall any fond memories you had of the man…scant after the birth of your twin brothers. “I never said he was…but there comes a point in one's life where you can learn to ignore some of the atrocities…but then he reached a point where I could no longer…” Zhongli sighs, “I began searching for ways to dethrone him peacefully…but anyone who could potentially hold such power was so afraid of his wrath…if not his, then his sons…even the archbishop proved useless; and I as one man could not overthrow him.” “So you left.” you spit “you abandoned your kingdom-” “I had not intended to.” He pushes, letting one hand fall to the table, lightly brushing against your own before you pull it away with a sharp look “An opportunity arose and I took it…but I had never intended to abandon the kingdom…abandon you like that, your highness.”

“Well you did.” You hiss quietly “you abandoned this kingdom and left us…all of us…to the hands of my father… Do you know how powerless I was? Once you left I was nothing but a bargaining chip!” You feel the way your ribs throb in your torso and you grit your teeth, taking no small amount of pleasure in the way his eyes widen, it was nice to see his facade crack now and then. 

“You left… and he got worse, because he didn’t have you here to keep any sort of lead on him.”

Zhongli’s gaze falls again, unable to look you in the face as he considers his response, clasping his fingers together and unclasping them again. 

“At the time…it seemed as if my presence was no longer doing anything to hold him back… He became…hungry for more power, hungry to show your brothers what they would inherit…What atrocities he would allow them to commit… But when he began declaring war on everyone who would even look his way..I knew things had gone too far… you should eat before your food goes cold.”

You blink at him, and then down at your food before shooting him a look, he smiles in return, but you can see a hint of sadness behind it, a change form the usual warmth…for the first time, Zhongli looks…tired. The longer you look at his face, the more you notice it, the faint bags beneath his eyes, the tired haze…had it always been there? 

“On the field during that battle…I came across Xiao…a young child who was never meant to be on the field…but his knight commander demanded it…he was beaten and abused…but he fought like a god… when I killed his previous commander…he immediately bent his knee to me… it wasn’t long after that I met Ganyu… Ganyu actually hails from the outskirts of Liyue, but she and a small group of people had already begun to band together to do something about the king…I saw this group as my chance…and so.. “

“So you left…” you mutter, pushing a roasted potato around your plate. Were you angry at him? Or at yourself for being angry at him? It was hard to tell.

Zhongli nods with a soft noise “I had…never intended to remain away as long as I did… but if I stood any chance at overthrowing him… I needed to make sure those who came with me could handle it…Xiao is an excellent fighter, but at the time he lacked control, he could lose himself easily… I am just…grateful that when the night of the siege came… my old guard still remembered me…and you were not here to witness it.”

“Oh, what? So you could have forced me to marry you then and there?” you scoff, stabbing at the potato you had been victimising. “Glad I was away playing dignitary in Sneznhaya with the Tsaritsa and her overbearing little prince?”

“I-I would not have forced you to marry-” Zhongli starts, but you interject, slamming both hands onto the table as you haul yourself from your seat to glare daggers down at him.

“So you would hold my twin brothers hostage and trade them for my hand instead!?” You holler, dignity and grace be damned. “You knew I never once cared for their existence and yet you somehow thought I cared enough to trade myself for their freedom when you know damn well they never would have done the same.”

“I…I know.” he sighs, he remains where he is, staring up at you with amber eyes swimming with so many different emotions it’s hard to read. Regret? Grief? Sadness? “I will admit…I had, as Ganyu called it…an inflated ego-”

You snort a howling laugh, it was all you could do to keep the tears of pain at bay, even if you couldn’t quite pinpoint if it was physical or emotional pain that was making your eyes sting. “I’ll say! I’m sure I made such a wonderful impression, slicing those traitors heads right there on your brand new carpet.”

“You are angry-” “Angry? …Angry!?” You devolve into full on shouting, shouting loud enough that any attendants manning the doors eyes widen and they quickly shuffle from the room. “You have some fucking gall, your majesty.” you spit at him “thinking you could manipulate me into marrying you after you take the kingdom by force.” 

��I never wanted to manipulate you.” Zhongli rasps, actually shrinking back at the sheer force of your rage. “That was never my intention…”

“Then what was Zhongli!?” You seethe “You got what you wanted, the kingdom was yours, I never needed to be a part of your ideal! So why!?”

His next words fall from his lips without hesitation, his resolve strong as stone as he looks into your fiery gaze.

“Because I had made peace with my feelings for you many years ago, because I wanted to share this victory with you.”

“Wh-”

You blink and step back. It takes a moment to process, and when the words finally settle into your skin, they don't feel right. Too sincere, too honest.

Too true.

“Don't lie to me-” you rasp, but Zhongli shakes his head softly.

“I am not.” He tells you simply “Is it really all that surprising that after all the years I spent with you as your appointed knight did not culminate in my feelings towards you becoming more than just that? Your mother tried so very hard to keep you safe from the harsh hand of your father…and when she passed, I took that role without hesitation…because your smile was all I wanted.”

“S-stop it-” 

“If it were not for the fact your father already had plans, I would have asked him for your hand many years ago.”

“S-shut up!”

“You deserve to be a queen.” He presses, slowly rising to stand as you take a step back, emotionally? You had no idea where you were, why you were; but you needed to get away from him. “If anyone deserved to inherit this kingdom it was you.” 

No, nope, nuh-uh. You couldn’t take that…sincere look in his eyes. You hated him, you hated him for leaving, you somehow hated him even more for coming back. You hated his handsome face and his silky hair and his pretty eyes. You hated it.

Didn’t you?

“I know you do not trust me. Not after all I have done…but please…little love…let me earn it back from you…let me prove myself to you, like I did when I was assigned as your knight.”

Little love.

You hadn’t heard that name since your mother had died.

Words refuse to form on your tongue, you can’t think straight. Your ribs and leg are throbbing and he offers you his hand. You hated him.

You also happen to hate how the edges of your vision are beginning to blur, and how short your breath was becoming. Perhaps you had tied the bandages a little too tight, and only made them worse with your sudden movements.

You hate how Zhongli’s brow creases in concern. “Are you alright? You look whiter than a ghost-” his words are cut off when you take a step away and your knee buckles. Just like when you had fallen from the tree earlier in the day, he’s there to catch you, strong, but gentle arms wrap around you as you feel your world fading off for a short while, Zhongli’s wide, amber pools being the last thing you see.

At least he looked scared.

Serves him right.

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @theheartshaker @rjssierjrie Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[whumpy-writings]

Helpless

Febuwhump 2024 Day 1

The Dhampir Files Masterlist

CW: Non-con drugging, abusive parents (whumpees are adults), carewhumpers, reference to murder of parents

"You're an old man now, ya know that?" Cal leaned against the doorframe, smirking. Renn rolled his eyes.

"You're older than me."

"Exactly. Welcome to the old man club, where our favorite activity is napping and complaining loudly about the weather." Cal crossed the room and ruffled Renn's hair. Renn slapped his hand away playfully.

"But seriously, Renn. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," Renn said. "I honestly can't believe I'm twenty. Part of me didn't think we'd live this long."

Cal sighed. "Wow, way to bring down the mood." He wrapped Renn in a hug. Renn closed his eyes and squeezed his brother back. They were dhampirs, half human and half vampire. They weren't supposed to exist. If the authorities ever discovered them, they would be executed. There had been several close calls over the years, but they had so far evaded detection.

"Boys! Dinner is ready," Silvie called from downstairs. She was the human housekeeper who had taken care of them for the past few years. Ever since things with their vampire parents had gone sour.

The two boys tromped downstairs. Renn breathed in the scent of rosemary roasted chicken. It was his favorite meal.

"It's smells delicious in here." Renn pulled out his chair and settled in, Cal in the chair across from him.

"I would hope so. I've been slaving away at the stove all day. There's mushroom soup, rosemary chicken, mashed potatoes, and a lemon cake for dessert." Silvie put a dish of butter on the table, removed her apron, and sat down.

Renn's mouth watered at the feast. He started to fill his plate. "Thank you, Silvie. Everything looks amazing."

"Anything for you, Renn. Happy birthday."

They talked and laughed as they ate. Renn drank the cup of blood Silvie had provided for him to wash down his dinner.

Silvie brought out the cake and she and Cal fussed over how best to arrange the twenty candles on top.

"Well make a wish," Cal said.

Renn stared at the flickering flames, contemplating. Then he blew out the candles. I wish for twenty more years just like this.

The cake was, of course, heavenly. Renn leaned back in his chair. "I pronounce this birthday feast a success." He got to his feet and started to gather the dirty dishes.

"Hey, I got those," Cal said as he swatted Renn's hand away. Renn let his brother have the dishes. Cal was at the sink when Renn noticed Silvie crying.

"What's wrong?" Renn pulled out a chair next to her, his brow pinched in concern. She looked at her lap and sniffled into a handkerchief.

"Oh, nothing. You boys are just both so grown up." Sylvie looked at him with a sad expression. "It feels like it went by so fast." She stroked his cheek. "I'll miss you."

"What do you mean?" Renn asked. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sylvie's eyes widened. "I mean . . . I'll miss the little boy you used to be."

Renn couldn't suppress his snort. "Really? I think I single-handedly gave you at least three-quarters of your grays."

Sylvie laughed. "You weren't that bad. I only got half from you, the other half came from your brother."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cal called from the sink. "I'm an angel."

"What about that time you brought an entire bucket of frogs into the house?" Renn asked.

Cal spun around. "It was freezing outside! I was trying to save them."

Sylvie chuckled. "I swear my heart almost gave out when I woke up to a frog on my pillow."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Renn changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed. It was early spring and he left the window cracked open to get the cool night breeze. The only sounds were the chirping of the crickets and the wind whooshing through the leaves. Renn, Cal, and Sylvie lived in a little house out in the country, far away from prying eyes. It hadn't always been that way. Renn shook off the memory. They were here now, that's what mattered. He was just about to put his candle out when there was a knock at his door.

"Come in."

Sylvie came in, a candle in one hand and a cup in the other.

"I brought you some tea," she said as she set the candle on the table. "I know how much you like the chamomile."

Renn sat up in bed and took the teacup. "Thanks. Does it have-"

"Yes, I put in two dollops of honey."

Renn grinned. "You're the best, Sylvie."

Renn took a sip of the tea. He sighed at the sweetness. Sylvie sat down on the edge of his bed.

"I love you, Renn. Please always remember that."

Renn's forehead creased. "I love you too. Are you alright? You've seemed sad today." He took another sip of his tea. He could feel a headache coming on.

"You've always been such a sweet boy. I asked them for more time, but they said it had to be now."

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Renn asked. His vision blurred and his head pounded. He suddenly was so, so tired. Sylvie took the cup from him as he fell back against the pillows.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie said. Renn's eyes widened. She had drugged him. But why? He tried to move away from her but his limbs were as heavy as lead. Sylvie shifted his head into her lap. "Don't fight it. It's no use. Just relax, Renn." Renn's eyes drifted shut. He forced them open. He had to get away. He had to warn Cal. He attempted to yell but all that came out was a strangled sob. He was going to die. He had always thought he would burn to death. That someday the authorities would discover him and Cal and have them burned at the stake for being monstrosities. He had never thought it would be like this. Drugged by the woman who he loved as if she was his own mother.

"It's okay honey, it's okay," Sylvie soothed as she ran a hand through his hair. "You're just going to sleep for a little bit." Renn wanted to pull away from her, but he was completely helpless. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was the tear sliding down Sylvie's face.

Renn floated in the darkness for what felt like eternity.

"He's more sensitive than Callum," a voice said. "She should have given him a smaller dose."

"She had no way of knowing that," another voice said. "He'll be fine. It'll just take a little longer to get through his system."

Renn whimpered. His head pounded and he had never felt so sore in his life. He blinked his eyes open. The light burned and he snapped them shut again with a groan.

"Ah, you're awake!"

"W-" Renn coughed. His tongue felt thick and a bout of dizziness washed over him. He tried again. "W-where am I?"

"You're home, my beautiful boy. You're finally home." That voice. Renn knew that voice. With enormous effort, he opened his eyes.

"Mother?"

"Yes baby, I'm here." She looked just like he remembered. Long black hair pulled back into a sensible bun, a no-nonsense gray dress, eyes that sparkled with what he had once thought was love. He knew better now.

"You had Sylvie drug me," he said.

His father spoke up. "I'm sorry about that, it must have been unpleasant. But you never would have come home otherwise."

"Of course not!" Renn yelled. His heart pounded and he was hit by the instinct to flee. He had never wanted to see them again. Not after he had seen them murder his human mother and Cal's human father in cold blood. "You killed them. You killed our parents right in front of us."

Father sighed. "For what it's worth, we didn't intend for you and Callum to see that. The only reason we eliminated them was to protect you two."

Renn let out a deep breath. "Why am I here? Where's Cal?" He tested his limbs and found he could barely move a finger.

"Callum's downstairs. We've already spoken with him," Mother said. "As for why you're here, you'll be helping us to push the boundaries of modern science. You and Callum are the first dhampirs to make it to maturity in generations. We know next to nothing on dhampir anatomy and physiology, so we'll be studying you two."

Renn's throat went dry. "You're going to dissect us?"

Father had the audacity to laugh. "Oh no, of course not. We're much more interested in how your bodies work than what they look like on the inside." That wasn't very reassuring.

"You're too special to waste on something as unrefined as dissection," Mother pitched in. Renn closed his eyes as tears burned. "You must be exhausted. Let's take you downstairs."

Renn couldn't fight back as his father picked him up and carried him to his fate.

Taglist: @dragonqueenslayer6 @whumpsday

[kaseyskat]

hi hello so the oak family makes me soooo fucking emo and i thought a bit too hard about lark and henry's relationship this week and this is what came out? it's also my first time really trying to tackle lark's pov so be kind to me sdhfkhdsf

~~

The nighttime has always been Lark’s favorite. 

In the Before, this was mostly because he and Sparrow used to sneak out of their rooms and down to the home computer. Sparrow would disable the parental controls, because he’s smart like that, and Lark would pull up the wikipedia pages of movies, and they would sit together, sharing one chair like they share everything else, consuming to their heart’s desire. 

Sleep, or the lack thereof, used to come so easily to them, Before. 

Lark only frowns in the memory of his own immaturity, now. 

Now, the night is a quiet peace, a moment of respite– and besides, when his dreams are drenched in black miasma and static, he much prefers when his brother is sleeping in bed and his parents are locked in their bedroom and Lark can be alone. 

Except for tonight, as he creeps into the kitchen only to find the light on, the sound of familiar humming brightening the space. 

There was a time when that humming was a comfort to Lark, in the Before. He remembers being small – smaller, anyways – and wanting to stay awake, stay awake! but being trapped in the arms of his parents, swaddled in blankets. He remembers a day where he had been sick with the flu, and his father had held him and sang to him while he cried and squirmed, the same song that he is humming now in the kitchen as he works. 

This Henry, Lark notes, is nothing like the apologetic but firm father that he’s been angry with for what has felt like his entire life. His father’s hair is tousled, his glasses hanging crooked, and he’s kneading dough as he hums to himself. 

Awkward. Lark swallows, and he steps into the light, teeth gritted. The fury that writhes under his skin starts to boil over once more, because the night was his time, of course his father would steal this from him too, he always ruins everything– 

“-oh hello, Lark,” said father interrupts Lark’s thoughts, and when Lark focuses back on him, he has a tired smile on his face, one that looks just a bit less strained than the fake plastered smiles he usually holds on their missions. “Did you need something? Don’t let me stop you.” 

I do need something, Lark wants to say, I need you to Leave. But he doesn’t say this out loud; he and Sparrow have been talking, and he has seen the wear of the fight between himself and their father on his brother, and enough time has passed since he was the afraid little kid who released the Doodler of his own volition that the anger that sits there in his head has simmered down to a slowly cooking roast instead of the boiled over mess of a person he had been. 

So he swallows his anger and forces it into his stomach and he steps into the light of the kitchen, his nose wrinkling. “What… are you doing?” 

It should sicken him, the way Henry’s eyes light up at the question– this, too, is familiar, the enthusiasm that his father holds for even the smallest joy of describing his hobbies to his sons. But it doesn’t, and the lack of the emotion has Lark’s stomach curling, his head pounding in tune. 

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I like to bake,” his father explains, and he gestures at the dough. “My mom taught me; she thought it would help me to have an outlet, a way to feel my emotions. It’s very soothing, and yet you have to be so precise with the measurements that it requires–” 

“-forget I said a word,” Lark interrupts, rubbing his fingers against his temple with a groan. “I had forgotten your conversation skills are sorely lacking. Just… I just need some water.” 

His father’s smile does not waver, and he inclines his head at the fridge as he continues to knead. 

The smell of baking bread wafts through the kitchen as he treks across it, and his stomach, unwittingly, growls– and his father is still humming that song, the one from his childhood, and it melds with the bread, and the anger that simmers in his stomach feels a little less abrasive, and maybe it’s the vulnerability of the night or the pain radiating from his head but for once, Lark doesn’t want to fight. 

He’s tired. 

“Is the bread recipe one given to you by Grandmother as well?” he voices, tentatively. “It smells more appealing than anything you or Mother have ever deigned to serve to us in the past.” 

“My cooking is usually pretty bad, isn’t it?” his father admits, and he laughs. “Do… would you like to learn?” 

No. 

“If you are suggesting, Father, that I would like to spend my perfectly fine night with you in the kitchen learning how to bake bread, which I will never use…” Lark trails off as he turns back around, water bottle in hand. 

Henry is looking at him with something that Lark almost recognizes – is it pride? – as he holds up a piece of dough. With dried fruit and nuts, it has turned into a crude replica of his own face, right down to the sad little smile and the droopy eyes. “You can punch it,” he says, waving the little dough-face around childishly. 

For all that his father knows nothing about him and never will, he does know how to entice him to a task he previously had no intentions on completing. Lark groans, and he marches right over to where his father is standing, snatching the doughy face out of his hands. 

“I do not understand how you plan on teaching me when the dough is already made,” he snorts with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t think you thought this through very well, per the usual.” 

“I really just needed the help kneading,” Henry confesses, though Lark suspects his father is, once again, telling him a partial truth. “My hands are not as strong as they used to be, but yours are only getting stronger.” 

Lark remembers the last time he had thrown a punch at his father in anger, and the way he had been bruised for weeks, the marks dark and irritated. It had satisfied the chaos inside of him in a way he hadn’t been able to voice, the physical proof of his emotions, his rage. And still, Henry had not scolded him, had not raised his voice; he had taken it, like he had given up on trying. 

Lark does not want his father to keep trying, but somehow the idea of his father giving up on him feels worse. 

“I will take over then,” he says, evenly, and he steps to the pan Henry had been working with, cracking his knuckles. The dough is littered with nuts and fruits, and with some already in the oven, truly he does not quite understand why his father insists on making more… but he’s already here, isn’t he? 

He curls his hands into the dough, and he kneads. 

It… is soothing, in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Kneading dough is just punching it and punching it and watching the way the flour and yeast mixture yields to him has Lark feeling like he is younger, punching trees and stripping off the bark just to feel powerful. 

And Henry watches him, that smile still curling at his lips, fondness in his eyes. 

“I have the recipe written down,” he finally says, breaking the silence just as Lark steps back from the dough. It’s smooth, not sticky anymore, and even Lark in his inexperience can tell that it is finished. “If… you are willing, I really can teach you sometime.” 

“I have no use for bread,” Lark immediately bites, but as he washes his hands and watches the way Henry folds the dough and preps it for baking, he thinks he understands the appeal. His grandmother had called it an outlet for a reason, and while Lark is hesitant to admit it… 

…maybe, just maybe, he does need this. 

“Besides, who knows where we will be next week,” he continues, gesturing to the windows that show a darkened sky– not from the moon, but from the Doodler, which Lark has sworn he’d kill. “But… I will allow you to show me the recipe. Perhaps Sparrow would like to learn in my stead.” 

It is, he thinks, about as good as he can offer. 

“Perhaps he would,” Henry agrees, and he yawns. “Well, thank you– for thinking of Sparrow. I hope you sleep well.” 

I won’t, Lark thinks, but he bites the comment back and scatters quickly, before he can be drawn into anything else against his will. This… was stupid, it’s all so stupid, and he wants to bash his head into a wall, or scream into his pillow, or… or learn his father’s stupid bread recipe because he, too, is just tired. 

And it isn’t much, but it’s a start, isn’t it? 

[goldenfreddys]

september ‘04, cont.— ndn summer, babe!

A batch of frybread didn't take much: just flour, oil, water and a little bit of baking powder. Simple, easy, difficult to mess up. Most vitally, Nadia liked it. She liked it when she was sad, when she was sick, and even when she seemed to have lost her appetite completely.

Jeremy had one of his mixtapes playing quietly from an old stereo on the counter as he cooked. The dough had been largely trial and error, given measuring spoons weren't exactly on the top of the priority list when it came to getting stuff for their apartment, but it looked good nonetheless.

He flinched hard as a sudden knock came on the door. The puck of dough he was holding hit the oil with a tad too much force, sending small, hot droplets onto his hands.

Jeremy swore quietly and rushed to run some cold tap water over his skin. Another string of knocks.

“Can y'all hold your horses for a minute?!”

He heard a muffled apology from outside. After a couple seconds, he turned off the tap and dried his hands. He twisted the knob on the stove to low heat then headed over to open the door.

Two people stood outside.

“Hey, cousin!” The girl with straight brown hair and long, beaded tassel earrings greeted him.

Jeremy started quickly adding up her features in his head.

��... Chantelle?”

“And Tate. We brought food.” Her older brother added, holding out a foil covered dish.

Both of them were taller than Jeremy remembered, though that was unsurprising given how long ago he last saw them in person. He vaguely remembered spending a summer—maybe sophomore year—with his uncle and cousins, helping them work the trapline. The mosquitos were thick as a veil that year.

Jeremy let them in, then went back to the stove to finish cooking the frybread, nodding along as Chantelle chattered.

“So where are you workin’ now, Remy?”

“Stuck doing graveyard shifts as a security guard.” he said, far more focused on trying to flip the frybread with a fork against the side of the pan without splashing more oil on himself.

“She asked where.” Tate interjected flatly.

The dough sizzled. He managed to get the bottom side perfectly fried, which was a rare feat to accomplish on the first piece— usually, you had to poke around a bit with the stove temperature and cooking time as you went.

“Sorry, uh... One sec.”

Jeremy grabbed a paper plate from the cupboard and put it down by the stove before continuing hesitantly, “... The new pizza place.”

“Freddy’s? Say sike,” Chantelle groaned.

“I told you not to go promising auntie we’d look out for his dumb ass. Doomed from the start.”

“My bad. I assumed most people wouldn't wanna work at the murder arcade.”

Though Chantelle was flippant about it, the way she spoke had a weight to it that surpassed the mere superstition that had surrounded the pizzeria for years. He felt like he might have missed a community notice from the municipality reminding him that the animatronics at the local Freddy’s Pizza, for reasons unknown, become lethally aggressive at night.

Jeremy sighed, “It- uh, gets worse. I’m only making 6.75 an hour, too.”

“My friend’s brother worked there for a while. They haven’t seen him in weeks, but someone found his car in the lake a few days ago.” Chantelle stated, “Not like the cops are gonna do anything, though. They’re fuckin’ allergic to the place.”

“I know. It’s temporary.”

“That’s what everyone says! Then they get killed or get real fucked up, like that Afton guy.”

“Said I know.” Jeremy repeated, though it came out much harsher than he wanted, “... Sorry. I-I just gotta make rent until I hear back from somewhere else, okay?”

He piled hot frybread onto the paper plate and set it down on the beat-up dinner table Nadia had snagged off the side of the road. The room was in desperate need of a subject change.

“You gonna tell me what you brought?”

“Rabbit roast. Dad cut off the head so you wouldn't act like a baby about it.” Tate nudged him teasingly.

“Tell him I said thanks.”

Jeremy felt deep in his gut that this was going to be a phenomenal mistake; though, in his head, he felt a fresh wave of nauseating pain shooting through his temples.

Eventually, his cousins went on their way. Jeremy switched the stereo off, then sighed.

Though he’d spent the duration of their visit waiting for them to leave, a feeling of dread began to pool in his chest. Dimly, thick-fingered beams of light reached through the partially drawn blinds above the sink.

He forced himself to step away from the counter. The pills Dr. Miller gave him were still in his bag, which was on a chair by the door. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. The bottle was orange with a child resistant cap—fairly standard affair—though entirely unlabelled. No instructions on dosage, nor how and when to take them. Hesitantly, he opened the bottle and took one of the round tablets out. Light purple, round, no imprint number, scored on one side.

The taste of coppery tap water lingered in his mouth with something oddly sweet after he swallowed the tablet.

[psychospore]

An Exquisite Treat

A/N: hello lovely people - happy new year to all of you. 💚

You're a young owner and chef of a new hole-in-the wall restaurant in New York. You've only been operating for a few months with a handful of staff but business seems to be working in your favor. You usually stay in the kitchen to do most of the cooking but your sous chef assures you he can handle the workload when things get busy in front so you can help out there - especially Friday and Saturday nights.

You have noticed a particular person frequenting his dinners there, normally with another woman... Different women each time... He has luscious raven hair flowing and barely touching his broad shoulders. He looks divine in how he wears that suit each time he dines there.

One night, he visits there alone. One of your waitresses was absent so you ended up walking up to his table making sure you look presentable, sweeping away stray hairs from your face, greeting him and handing him the menu. The way his eyebrows furrow, fingers running through his lips as he scans through the menu puts you in a trance, until he breaks it by staring at you with those deep, ocean eyes and speaking in a velvety tone

"Aren't you the owner of this lovely place?" with his deep voice, he asked

"yes, I am - my name is y/n. I see you frequently around here" you smiled

"apologies for the late introduction - I am Loki. I love this place, the ambiance is good. Would you like to join me for dinner - I'd be interested to talk about my experience here? I figured since tonight is not as busy as the other nights but I do hope I'm not imposing on you"

You scanned the room and it seems you could spare some time here. You gestured one of the other waitresses to come to your table. "Hey, we don't seem to have many people tonight so I figured I'd hang out with this gentleman for a quick chat. Please let me know if anything comes up." The waitress seemed to let out a hidden smile. Little did you know, Loki has had his eyes on you for some time now and most of your staff has started noticing. Despite being with other women, his eyes constantly linger towards you whenever you come out to the kitchen and help out in the front. He always wondered how you can be constantly graceful in the face of a high intensity work.

"Also, what would you like to have Loki?"

"I'll have whatever the chef recommends" he answers as he looks at you

You chuckled, "well the chef recommends - for starters, Tomato Bruschetta, for the main course I'll have a Rib Eye Roast and I'll have Stout-braised Lamb Shanks for Loki, with a side salad. Dark chocolate coated cherries and strawberries and our finest red wine please. Thank you" You looked at your waitress while taking the order. "Gotcha - give us 10-15 minutes. In the meantime, please enjoy" she winks at you, grinning, before heading to the kitchen which took you a bit by surprise.

"how did you come up with all of this?" Loki asked

"oh - my parents gave me money to start this place when I graduated from Culinary school. I loved the energy here when I first came and I was so sure I just had to build my restaurant here, and now here we are" smile spread on your lips, eyes twinkling as you talk about how everything came to be. Loki adamantly listened to your saccharine voice filling his ears. How he wished he could pause time and make this moment last forever.

You turned to him as you finished talking, "how about you? Tell me about yourself" Food started being served, he told you how he has a brother who dragged him into working in the same company here in new york. It's tiring at work so your restaurant is a safe space for him to unwind and enjoy.

A curious part of you asked, "how about those different women who accompany you on a regular basis? " but then you realized "sorry - it was extremely rude to ask"

"Rest assured, they are just female companions. I have my eyes set on someone else already. Ever since I've set my eyes on her in this very place" as he nibbles a piece of the savory chunk of meat.

"that's interesting - I'm pretty sure she's a lucky gal" you answered as you sip a big gulp of wine, lowkey crestfallen. You've had your eyes set on him for a while too, albeit in denial.

"well - I'm luckier, I'm dining with her right now" he smirks, looking at you

You almost choked yourself with wine after hearing his confession, pretty sure you made a fool of yourself by having wine come out of your nostrils as you scramble to bring the napkin to cover and wipe your face. "Are you alright?" worried, Loki asks.

"I'm fine. Maybe next time save your confession to when I'm not drinking anything" you paused as you both laughed at the absurdity of what happened.

"Oh dear - I profusely apologize. I hope it doesn't change your perception of me. I am extremely smitten with you and how wonderful of a person you are and would like to pursue you in courtship." he declared

"I'd be honored." He takes your hand, brings it up to his lips to kiss it as you blush beet red. His piercing gaze strikes right through your soul.

You argued a bit on who to pay the bill, you wanted to waive the dinner you had tonight with him and him wanting to pay everything that you end up just giving it all as tips for your staff - which made them extremely happy.

You accompanied Loki to the door after dinner to see him out and he gave you a quick peck on the forehead before you closed the door. "I'll see you soon" you say to him.

Loki on the other hand, walks in the dark alleyway, his suit changes to an emerald battle wear with a smile on his face. He can't wait to see you again - maybe he should bring you flowers.

[nimata-beroya]

MY THOUGHTS ON TBB 2×12 "The Outpost"

I don't know how I'm going to articulate all the thoughts I have about this episode because my mind is still reeling. But I'll do my best. I absolutely ADORED it!! I think it became my favorite ever (despite all the emotional damage that inflicted on me). It's very satisfying regarding Crosshair's storyline, and DBB was right to consider it the best.

I love all the symbolism and parallels to previous episode, but it terrifies what will come next. But I'll talk about that later. Let's start at the beginning…

There he is, my poor baby!!! I just want to hug him!!

I knew it was happening, but watching these clones getting forcibly retired is sickening. Much more with that bored and patronizing tone of that imperial officer.

Oh! So, this is the lieutenant. Nolan, ugh! I hate him already. And HOW DARE HE TO CALL CLONES USED EQUIPMENT??!!! 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

Hehe! I like that some things never change. I'm talking about Crosshair napping during the flight. It's something he did in the unfinished TCW arcs. It's nice that they used it here.

OOOOHHH!! New clone!! I love him already, and his beard is the best!!!! Oh, a Commander? Commander what?!

Hey!! Why are those names familiar? Are they familiar? [Later google search came back with nothing, which means they're new, but call me crazy, but I think I heard those names before]

OMG! I love this commander so much!!!!! Roast that lieutenant!!!

lol Crosshair's grunt when the commander says he knows the lieutenant 2 hours too long. That's my boy!!!!

Mayday! Mayday, will you marry me? 😍😍😍

Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Cross hesitated, but he gave his name and not his number!! 🥺🥺🥺

Ouch!!! Poor baby, his eyes! But even so, he makes the shot 😍

Oh, they aren't dead yet, and went inside the cave.

UGH!! you can't even give them a second to mourn!?! Please tell me that this lieutenant will die in this episode. Pretty please?!

oh, so he didn't get too far.

Cross, baby, I adore you, but you're a bit hypocritical, don't you think? You're perfectly fine with anyone else leaving their own behind when circumstances call for it, but when it comes to your bothers and you, it's a whole different tune you sing. just sayin'

"Remind me not to die on your watch" 💀

NOOOO!!! no no no no no!! don't tell me he stepped on a... yep he did 😖😖😖 Cross, my darling, I very much want you to survive this season. STOP STEPPING ON LANDMINES!!! TYVM!

I knew there was a reason why I love you so much, Mayday. Keep throwing Crosshair's words back at him. He deserves it. And also, deactivate that bomb please, now!!

It makes me sick, all the abuse and neglect that the Empire has for the clones. It's just heartbreaking 💔💔

😭😭😭 Crosshair reluctant to talk about CF99

Crosshair!! Don't provoke an avalanche, please.

Stormtrooper armor?! That's it? I should've known that it was something as stupid as this 🙄

I told you!!! AAAAAAHHHHH RUUUUNN!!!! No no no nono !!! Crosshair!!! Mayday, noooooo!!!

😭😭😭😭😭 My baby carrying Mayday!! See, this is the golden heart I knew you always had and that so many people denied it. You're all bark but not bite. You're the softest softie ever!! 😭😭😭😭🥰 They're huddling for warmth 😭😭😭😭😭

😭😭😭 The desperation in Crosshair's voice pleading the Lieutenant for help for Mayday 😭😭😭😭😭

WHY?!!! Why Mayday had to die? NOOO!! 😭😭😭😭😭

And FUCK YOU!! Lieutenant!! You deserve the slowest and most painful death 🤬🤬

As painful as it's to hear this, Crosshair needed someone to spell it out for him, loud and clear, to make him experience this, leaving no room for excuses or interpretation, of how little the Empire values the clones. My heart bleeds for him, but it was necessary to push him over the edge.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT'S MY BOY!!!!! This is so satisfying!! Gawd! Thank you baby for killing that karking idiot!! Now, kill the rest and go back to your brothers, c'mon!

No! wait! no no no don't pass out no no no!! AAAAAAAAHHHH!!

no!! You cannot leave it there!!!! NOOO!! wait! What?

OH FUCK!! OH FUCK!! OH FUCK!! OH FUCK!! NO NO NO NO NO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! nooo NO NO NO NOO!!!

Final thoughts

This episode was full of call back, parallels and foreshadowing in a way that previous episodes have not.

Let's start with the poetry of Crosshair changing sides on a snow/ice planets. First on Kaller, and now here.

Crosshair watching the ice vultures, probably remembering what Mayday told him earlier about those things finding a way to survive before shooting Nolan.

And of course, Crosshair carrying injured Mayday back to camp instead of "not bothering to carry deadweight" as he said a few times before, not just in this episode. Mayday's comment of not wanting to die on Crosshair's watch is funny the first time you watch the episode, but it takes a whole new weight by the end of it.

I'm sure there are one or two more I'm missing, and I'll remember later, but you get the idea.

And I'm TERRIFIED, like shitting on my pants scared, of what will happen in the next 4 episodes!! I'm not sure if I'll survive the waiting.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: if you haven't heard, I'm hosting The Bad Batch Appreciation Week this year, and we're on the prompt voting phase. If you're interested in participating/voting, check the link below.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #9

Leviathan: I wish puberty took you to a customize character screen

Satan: Do you realize how many people would be dragons

Solomon: You say this like it’s a bad thing

•

Mammon: Uptown funk would’ve made it onto the shrek soundtrack

Solomon: That’s the truest statement I’ve ever read

•

Asmodeus: Once in the fifth grade this kid called me a homo and I thought it meant homeless and I was so confused I said ‘Raphael you’ve been to my house’

•

Mammon: My brother just accidentally prematurely sent an email to his boss…. It was supposed to say ‘I am afraid that we will have to postpone our meeting’ but he hit send when all it said was

Hi, Diavolo

I am afraid

•

Mammon: Fun Disney fact! Fiona was the first red-headed Disney Princess when she made her debut in 1988, one year before Ariel did in The Little Mermaid (1989)

Mephistopheles: Shrek came out in 2001

Mammon: Good for him

•

Satan: One time in math class my math teacher was really pissed at us and he was yelling “DO YOU EVEN KNOW BASIC MATH? DO YOU KNOW ADDITION? WHAT’S TWO PLUS TWO? MAMMON WHAT’S TWO PLUS TWO?” and poor Mammon wasn’t paying attention so I leaned over to him and whispered “seven” and he blurted out “SEVEN” and I have never laughed harder and I doubt I ever will.

•

Asmodeus: Today at work I let someone into a dressing room and they said “thank you” and half of me tried to say “you’re welcome” and the other half tried to say “no problem” and I ended up saying “your problem.”

Mammon: One time I was playing soccer in gym. Ball is up in the air. Think I’m gonna be awesome and air kick it into the goal. Try. Miss ball. Kick goalie in the face. Try to ask “are you okay” and

“I’m fucking sorry” at the same time. Instead end up yelling “ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY!?” Goalie is cooking back tears.

Leviathan: This post had me in tears.

•

Raphael: That’s a cute foot fetish you got there, would you mind keeping it 25796323689432 feet away from me?

Asmodeus: 25796323689432 feet you say?

•

Simeon: If you had six minutes left to live what’s the last song you’d listen to

Leviathan: I’d spend the entire six minutes trying to pick a song

•

Mammon: You call it “really bad at darts”, I call it freestyle acupuncture

Barbatos: Sir I’m going to have to ask you to leave the bar

•

Mammon: Can you OD on vitamin D?

Mephistopheles: That’s how Icarus died

•

Leviathan: I’m really into internet discourse but only pointless and stupid internet discourse like how many holes there are in a straw (it’s 2)

Mephistopheles: No it’s an infinite amount of holes stacked on top of eachother

Leviathan: This is exactly what I’m talking about

•

Luke: I have small hands

Leviathan: Bring them closer to you they’re just far away

Luke: Wow you were right…

•

Diavolo: You ever dip your entire Oreo in milk except the part where you’re holding it and feel like thetis dipping newborn Achilles into the River of Styx making him invulnerable everywhere except for his heel

•

Solomon:

Two things I need today’s youth to know:

1. Anything the government says is propaganda

2. 99% of vegetables taste better roasted

Barbatos: you spelled boiled wrong

Solomon:

My apologies:

Anything the government says is boiled

•

Diavolo: The weirdest instance of “getting my wires crossed” I’ve ever experienced: I had a piece of candy at my desk. My intention was to simultaneously eat the candy and start a brief work task. I put the candy in my mouth and felt a surge of alarm as I was convinced, for a fraction of a second, that I had somehow eaten the task I was about to start.

•

Asmodeus: Hope everyone is well today!

Asmodeus: And tomorrow !!!!

Asmodeus: After that you’re on your own

•

Luke: Omg my guardian just came into my room and told me that I’m spending too much time on the internet so he told me “I’m sorry I have to do this but it’s for your own good.” and then he proceeded to delete the internet explorer icon from my desk top

And the way he said “I just deleted the internet” just takes the cake

Last • Next

[luveline]

a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

-

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn���t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

[rodr1cks]

Hi! I don't know if your request are open, but I'd like to know if you could write a rodrick x reader where the reader is Rowley's sister and discovers her talking on the phone with a friend saying she's in love with Rodrick and tells Greg and he tells her that Rodrick has been in love with her for a long time and they try to put them together?

cw: none it’s pure fluff

word count: 1.8k

“I know! And he didn’t even apologize!” Greg ranted into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Rowley frowned, sympathetic nature as present as always. “Anyways, mom says dinner is ready, see you tonight?” Rowley’s tone lifted at the end of his sentence, excitement brewing as he thought about the sleepover he was meant to have with Greg later that evening.

You slid into the kitchen on your socks, just as Rowley was concluding his conversation with Greg.

Rowley sat anxiously through dinner, quickly consuming everything on his plate, including the vegetables. You observed him from across the table, cocking your head as your younger brother inhaled his peas like he hadn’t eaten in days.

He took his last bite before exclaiming, “I’m going to pack my stuff for Greg’s!”

Not without clearing his dishes first, of course.

You rolled your eyes at his charisma and headed into the living room. You slumped over on the couch, limbs splayed every which way as you called your friend, Marissa. You had been needing to gush to somebody about your newest crush, Rodrick Heffley.

You had only interacted with the messy haired boy in passing: family dinners, picking up Greg, dropping off Rowley, etc.

“I don’t know what it is, he’s just so- so- captivating. God, Mar, I swear I could watch him play drums for hours on end!”

Unbeknownst to you, Rowley had entered the room and was about to speak. You were too caught up in drooling over Rodrick to notice. “Hey, y/n-” He cut himself off quickly, curiosity getting the best of him.

“And did you see what he was wearing at Matt’s party? Those jeans? And that eyeliner? God I could just tear them-”

Rowley cleared his throat, unwilling to hear the rest. “Y/n can you take me to Greg’s, please?” He stood awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Your head whipped around faster than the speed of light. “Marissa, I gotta go.”

“Rowley, how much of that did you hear?”

He lied, something he wasn’t really good at, “Not much! I promise!”

“Rowley Jefferson you had better keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll-”

You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “Just get in the car.” You breathed out in a scarily calm tone. Your red headed sibling nodded frantically out of fear and darted to the garage.

Usually, you would make him walk, but ever since your infatuation with Rodrick began, you were more eager to give him rides over there. The mere prospect of getting the slightest glance sending excitement throughout your entire being.

When you pulled up to the Heffley home, you gave him a final glare. “Say nothing.” He gave you the same shaky nod he gave you only moments ago. With that, he was bounding towards the front door. You made sure he got inside safely and drove off.

“Rowley? Everything okay?” Greg asked his friend, concerned with his behavior. Rowley couldn’t handle keeping secrets. His hands grew clammy and a slight sweat broke out on his forehead. Rowley had an uncomfortably fake smile plastered on his face as he tried to assure Greg that everything was just peachy.

All it took was one knowing look from Greg and Rowley broke.

“Alright, fine! I heard my sister talking to her friend about how hot Rodrick is and how she wants to-”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture!”

Greg took a moment to proceed, his brows furrowed as he brought a contemplative fist up to support his chin.

“Lemme get this straight. Your sister likes my brother?”

Rowley nodded slowly.

“Y/n likes Rodrick?”

Rowley nodded again, confirming Greg’s exclamations.

“But y/n is smart a-and hot!”

“Greg! Don’t say that!” Rowley groaned, rolling his head back in disgust. Greg threw both of his hands up in defense, “I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait, I have an idea.” A pit of dread grew in Rowley’s stomach, Greg’s ideas never turned out well.

“What if we set up y/n with Rodrick? Just hear me out, this could be good for him.”

Rowley mulled the idea over in his head, thinking that maybe dating you could make Rodrick more… agreeable? Maybe you could be a good influence on the intimidating teenager. A happier Rodrick would make sleepovers at Greg’s a lot more pleasant.

“I think that could work,” Rowley said apprehensively. “But how do we do it?”

Greg shrugged, “Simple, we just tell Rodrick there’s a really hot Girl interested in him.”

The boys proceeded to draw up a plan.

Phase one: The approach. Greg and Rowley nervously ascended the wooden steps that led to Rodrick’s room. Rodrick was laying on his back, spinning a drumstick between his nimble fingers.

He shot up immediately when he noticed the boys’ presence. “What are your dweebs doing up here?”

Phase two: Delivery. “Calm down Rodrick, we have some information you might wanna know,” Greg reasoned cooly, easing Rodrick’s anger from a roaring ten to a mild six.

Greg nodded over at Rowley, signaling him to start talking.

“W-well,” Rowley stuttered, “I uhm- heard my sister talking about you and she- she likes you and she was talking about your jeans?”

Rodrick blinked in confusion, processing this intel.

“Your sister likes me? Are you sure she meant me?”

“That’s what I said!” Greg exclaimed and Rodrick shot him a terrifying glare, silently telling Greg to can it.

Rodrick was honestly shocked. He always observed you from afar, deciding himself that a chick as cool as you would never go for him. This news was absolutely world shattering for the boy, he completely admired you.

Phase three: Action. “We have a plan.” Greg said, a conniving grin creeping onto his face. “Rowley calls y/n, tells her that he’s feeling sick and blames it on Mom’s pot roast or something. Then when she rushes over all worried, you greet her at the door. And then you work your Rodrick magic!” Greg smiled, abundant pride for his plan evident in his stature.

“It’s a go.” Rodrick declared, scrambling around his room to put on deodorant, a new t-shirt, and cologne before pointing at Rowley. “Make the call.”

“Hey, y/n,” Rowley groaned into the phone, sounding as sick as he possibly could. “I- I think I ate something bad and I really need you ro come get me.”

You sighed, telling him you’d be there in ten minutes and to have his things ready to go. You departed for the Heffley house for the second time that night.

When Rowley didn’t come out to your car, you trudged up to the red door to go retrieve the sickly boy.

You gave the door three lazy knocks, expecting Rowley’s face to be the one behind it when it swung open. “Hey kid, are you feeling okay?” You asked, not yet making eye contact with the figure leering in the doorframe.

Your eyes widened as you came to realize who it was.

“Funny seeing you here,” Rodrick drawled out, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your cheeks burned with the heat of one thousand suns, you were not expecting this tonight.

“Y-yeah,” you smiled awkwardly, staring at your feet. “Rowley called, he uhm, he’s not feeling well. So if you could just get him for me I can leave. Immediately.” You cursed yourself for your blubbering idiocy as you twiddled your fingers.

“Actually, Rowley is feeling much, much better.” Suspicion grew as you studied Rodrick’s devious expression. “What’s going on?” You asked, genuinely puzzled as nothing was making any sense.

“I don’t know, y/n. Why don’t you come in and tell me?” Rodrick was surprisingly smooth in this situation, despite his nerves being at an all time high.

“Rowley is just up here,” Rodrick said while guiding you up the stairs to his room. In the meantime, Greg and Rowley peered out from the hallway, watching you follow Rodrick upstairs and giggling to themselves.

The overhead lights in Rodrick’s room were turned on, the glow from his string lights illuminating the area instead. “Mood lighting,” as he had called it. Rodrick had already instructed the boys to stay far away once you had arrived.

You were still lost, Rowley nowhere in sight. “So? Where is he?” You asked expectantly.

“Here’s the thing y/n. You know Rowley can’t keep secrets, right? I mean you have to know that, he is your brother”

Shit.

“That little shit stain! I’ll get him, I swear to god!” You turned to bound down the stairs, ready to tear the entire house apart in hunting for him. Rodrick grabbed your wrist before your foot could even reach the first step.

“Y/n, relax, relax!” His grip on your flesh made your breath hitch and stomach churn. “It’s okay, I feel the same way.” Rodrick’s cocky facade dissipated into nothing as he revealed his feelings.

You got a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of Rodrick that you were sure he didn’t typically share. “But girls like you don’t usually like stupid guys like me,” Rodrick was staring at the ground now, grasp on your arm softening.

You were too unsure of your words so you opted to move your free hand to hold his bicep, closing a considerable amount of distance between the two of you in the process.

“Rodrick, I’ve never liked anybody as much as I like you. And I don’t mean that in a weird or creepy way it’s just that-”

Now it was time for Rodrick’s own addition to the plan. Phase four: The kiss.

Your rambling was cut short by a pair of warm lips pressing against your own. He kissed you with just enough force to cause you to stumble back a bit, causing you to brace yourself against his torso.

He carded a gentle hand through your hair and tugged back on your soft locks. You moaned at the vibrations tendrilling at your scalp and kissed him with even more ferocity.

Somehow, you ended up on his bed, straddling him. The blankets strewn across his mattress melded against your knees and the fronts of your calves as you stabilized yourself on his lap.

He placed apprehensive hands on your hip bones, unsure of what was okay and what wasn’t. You placed your hand on top of his larger one, assuring him that you were comfortable. You even allowed a small whimper to leave your throat as he tightened his hold on you.

You only pulled away to catch your breath, looking into his eyes for the first time that night. You smiled warmly at him as you cupped his cheek. Suddenly, Rodrick’s signature smirk returned to his face.

“Now tell me what you were saying about my jeans.”

[lonely-lost-soul]

Daddy's Little Girl

Request 10: Dad!Schlatt angst with the reader trying to protect Tubbo because the reader is his older sibling?

Requested By: Anonymous

TW: Abuse

Do you want angst? I’ll give you angst. Never challenge me again. /J

ily /p

(Hints of Wilbur and Techno x reader if you squint)

Growing up with Schlatt as your father had its ups and downs, on one hand, he was hilarious and let you get away with anything you wanted, but on the other hand, he had a drinking problem. When you were a little girl his drinking wasn’t too bad, some days were worse than others but most of the time he was semi cognizant. However, when your baby brother Tubbo came along everything changed, for a while he was sober. He was clear-headed, held a stable job on the SMP, and even helped you with your homework, but alas all good things come to an end. As soon as Tubbo started school, and your mom left he started up again, you weren’t happy. Your horns had begun to curl around your head around that time and your baby brother was enamored. He would wrap his chubby hands around them to pull and trace his fingers over the ridges, Tubbo would declare his horns were going to be just as magnificent as yours one day. You would flush at the praise and ruffle his hair, and told him you could already feel his little nubs growing in, he was overjoyed at the news.

Before Tubbo, Schlatt would never lay a hand on anyone, but something inside him crumbled. You had a few close calls, Tubbo bothering your father a little too much and Schlatt raised a hand to the boy. Luckily, you were always there to diffuse the situation and direct your father’s attention away from your baby brother. You were old enough to know just how impulsive and uncaring drinking made him, you tried to keep Tubbo as occupied as you could while keeping up with your work.

When Tubbo was ten years old he made his first friend.

Tubbo told you the kid’s name was Tommy, and he shared all the new information about his friend. He informed you he had two older brothers named Wilbur and Technoblade, who were about a year or two older than you. Tubbo desperately wanted to introduce you to him, but with your dad to keep an eye on you had to decline, at least for the time being. Tubbo pouted at your response and gave you, your biggest weakness puppy dog eyes, you relented. Promising to go with Tubbo to Tommy’s house in a few days to meet the brothers and supervise his play date with Tommy.

You just hoped your dad would be alright.

The day finally rolled around for you to meet the elusive Tommy and his brothers, you informed your dad that you and Tubbo would be gone for the rest of the day, he said it was alright. You think he just wanted to excuse to drink more while both of his children were gone.

“Come on (Y/n), let’s go already!” Tubbo called with a groan, you hushed him softly,

“Put your jacket on first.”

He reluctantly slipped on his jacket and grabbed his bag, you followed him out the door. Tubbo was buzzing with excitement holding his bee plush close to his chest, going on and on about how great Tommy was and how much he hoped you’d like Wilbur and Techno. Eventually, the both of you came upon a small cabin in the middle of a clearing, it was surrounded by lush pine trees and a little boy in a red and white shirt stood by the front gate.

“Tubbo!” The boy you assumed was Tommy shouted rushing over to the gate,

“Tommy!” Tubbo shouted with a laugh, he looked like he wanted to run towards him but first, he looked up at you. You smiled softly and gave your brother a nod, his face lit up and he charged towards Tommy. They met in the middle and Tommy immediately tackled Tubbo to the ground, a young man with glasses opened the window and began to shout at the blonde. He picked his head up and spotted you in the distance, his entire face flushed red, you sent him a little wave. The boy adjusted his glasses slamming the window shut, you titled your head to the side before seeing him and a taller boy with pink hair. While Tommy and Tubbo wrestled in the dirt the older boys walked up to you, they introduced themselves as Wilbur and Technoblade. They both were hybrids like yourself, you immediately felt at home, no wonder Tubbo liked it here so much.

Through the power of conversation you found out Technoblade was a piglin hybrid and Wilbur was half nymph, Tommy was just a plain human. Either their dad got around or some of them were adopted, you’d ask Tubbo later, figuring it was rude to blatantly ask that question. You found out the entire family thrived off of bulling one another it was quite funny to watch Technoblade roast the ever-loving shit out of Wilbur, unknown to you whenever you let a giggle or two slip past your lips Wilbur would flush and Technoblade would smirk. The end of the playdate rolled around and you found yourself not wanting to leave your new friends, Wilbur offered for you and Tubbo to sleep over but you politely declined. Technoblade shot Wilbur a concerned look when with a smile you said your dad would have your ass if you and Tubbo stayed over.

A few years went by since your first meeting, Tubbo and Tommy became inseparable and honestly, you and his brothers were in the same situation. Although you couldn’t see Technoblade and Wilbur as much as Tubbo could see Tommy the three of you were attached at the hip. Wilbur would constantly write you letters, sometimes the handwriting would switch and you noticed Techno put his blunt opinions into the conversation. Tubbo found one of the letters once and insisted that both boys must have a crush on you, you denied that with a soft laugh, just like your father you were under the impression you were unlovable.

Speaking of your dad, he was rarely ever sober at this point, rather being numb than feeling anything significant. Luckily he could be slightly functional, but mostly it was you raising Tubbo and protecting him from your dad’s off days. Speaking of an off day you had just gotten back from a trip of visiting your favorite boys, it was late and Tubbo was asleep in your arms. He was scratched up a bandaid was on his nose, and a bandage wrapped around his arm, he had taken a particularly nasty fall while wrestling with Tommy. Luckily both you and Wilbur were skilled in patching up rambunctious little brothers and he was fixed up in no time flat. You noticed the light on in the living room and grew concerned, your dad was always passed out in his bed by this time of night, was he alright?

Tubbo mumbled something in your arms and you pulled him close to your chest as to not wake the boy. “Dad?” You called softly wandering into the living room, much to your surprise he was very much awake. Your nose scrunched up in displeasure he reeked of whiskey and cigarettes, so tonight was a bad night.

Noted.

“You reek.” You commented adjusting the sleeping Tubbo in your arms, your father shot you a dirty look.

“Where the fuck have you been with the brat?” He hissed baring his teeth at you, “Do you know how late it is? Do you know how worried I was!” You hated the way your stomach churned with guilt and relief, at least he noticed his children were gone. He shouldn’t be praised for the bare minimum, Technoblade would’ve told you gruffly if he knew the full extent of your relationship.

“Out with Tommy, Wilbur, and Technoblade. Phil’s kids remember?” You responded with a soft sigh and he sent a dirty look your way standing up from his recliner. You backed up a few steps, the man towering over you eyeing Tubbo who was beginning to stir in your arms. Hesitantly you placed a hand over the back of his head, keeping it pressed tightly against your neck and shoulder. It only seemed to make Schlatt’s face scrunch up more,

“He looks so much like your mother.”

“I know dad.”

“Why’s he beat to shit?” He slurred reaching his hands out towards Tubbo, “You let him get hurt?”

“Tommy and he were just wrestling. Just being kids. I patched him up, he’s just sleepy.”

“So you let him get beat?”

“Dad no did you not hear me-” He grabbed one of your horns roughly yanking them down. You yelped in pain dropping Tubbo in the process, he hit the ground with a hard thud crying out from the rude awakening. “Dad you’re hurting me-”

“(Y/n)? Dad?” He murmured groggily barely processing the situation unfolding in front of him.

“Tubbo go to your room.” Your dad hissed at him, spit flying everywhere, Tubbo looked terrified. He looked at you and nodded the best you could with your dad’s iron-like grip on your horn, he scurried away and you felt your eyes fill with tears. If only he was a little older, he’d maybe be able to help you, but he was a child and didn’t need to see what was going to happen. “You’ve been running around without a care in the world, you’ve been going free for way too long. You’ve been a bad girl and now your getting punished.” Your blood turned to ice as the gip on your horn tightened,

“Dad, please I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure we get home on time from now on, you’re drunk. Please don’t do this you’ll regret it come the morning.”

“Shut the fuck up (Y/n)!” He spat his tobacco spit flying all over your face, you grimaced trying not to choke in disgust. “You think you know everything about the world but you don’t, you’re a stupid naive child!” He slammed the side of your head against the brick wall of your house. You yelped in pain feeling something crack against the wall, but it wasn’t your skull, it was your right horn.

“Dad- Dad please stop my horn-” You pleaded as he dragged you back by the hair and slammed you into the wall again. Your horn cracked once more and you screamed in pure agony, blood began to stain the wall where your head it, and your horn began to crack. “DAD!” You sobbed out as your horn broke off falling on the ground with a thud. Blood began to drip down the side of your head, your sobbing seemed to snap Schlatt back to his senses as he let out a soft call of your name.

“Fuck. Fuck baby I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked pulling you into his chest, he pressed his hands against the stub of your horn. You whimpered in pain and Schlatt shushed you softly, “I’m so sorry baby girl. My little girl, I didn’t mean it.” His head pressed into the crook of your neck, just where Tubbo’s was moments prior. “I’m such a fuck up. I’d never hurt you...I can’t do this…”

“It’s okay…” Your voice cracked eyes wide and glassy, it wasn’t okay but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Can I go to bed now…”

“Lemme patch you up first. You might bleed out...scare Tubs.” Schlatt grumbled and you nodded numbly. He helped you to your feet and you swayed, your dad haphazardly bandaged the side of your head and cauterized your horn. That might’ve hurt even more than losing the horn on its own, you held back your whimpers as your dad apologized even more for the pain he caused. “Get some rest alright…I love you.”

“Love you to dad,” You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, you waited until he slipped into his room before you made your way into Tubbo’s. The boy was downright sobbing under his blankets, you pulled back the covers to find him desperately clinging to his bee plush.

“(Y/n)?” He whimpered looking up at you with wide eyes,

“Hey, Tubs…” Your smile was tense and he frowned, “Mr. Bumbles protect you okay? Just like we talked about?” Tubbo nodded lip trembling, he reached his hand up to touch your bandages. You flinched at his touch,

“Where’s your horn.”

“Unimportant. Just got into a little scuffle with dad, nothing your big sister can’t handle. Tubbo why don’t we go see Mr. Phil.”

“But it’s so late?”

“It’s okay. Go pack up a bag, you’ll be there for a while.”

“What about you?”

You sent him another tight-lipped smile, “I can’t stay there with you, unfortunately.”

“Then I don’t want to go!” He huffed defensively, your smile was wiped off your face.

“Not a suggestion-”

“NO! I’m not leaving you!” You grunted feeling him slam into your middle wrapping you in a tight hug. “Not with him...I need you. Who’s gonna protect me? Or read me bedtime stories? Or kiss me goodnight!” He began to cry through his protests and you knelt in front of him, you placed your hand on his cheek.

“Technoblade and Phil can protect you just fine. Wilbur would love to read you and Tommy’s bedtime stories. You’re too old for goodnight kisses-”

“Am not!”

“I can’t protect you anymore, not from dad.” Your voice shook a little before swallowing thickly, Tubbo’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He’s never seen you look so scared, you were serious. “You deserve to grow up normally and happily, with a good dad and family.”

“You're good family.” Tubbo insisted grabbing your bigger hand with his own, you let out a wet laugh and held your other hand to your mouth. Swallowing again before responding to Tubbo’s heartfelt compliment,

“I’ll always be your family and I’ll always be your big sister. But for now, you’ll temporarily be part of Tommy’s family. Just until I’m old enough to take you away from all of this.”

“Promise?” He held out his pinky,

“Promise.” You responded interlocking your pinky with his own, he seemed much more satisfied and willing to listen to you now. “Now go pack up alright? We gotta go before the morning,” Tubbo nodded at you and began to gather his things in his bag. Eventually, he was all packed up and you both snuck out towards Tommy’s home, the side of your head was throbbing and you felt completely off balance stumbling over your feet a few times. Tubbo grew concerned but never actually voiced said concern, the two of you came up on Phil’s doorstep. You loudly began to knock at the door and Technoblade answered sword drawn, glasses were haphazardly thrown on his nose,

“(Y/n)? Tubbo?” He blinked blearily, “it’s like three am what-” Adjusting the glasses he finally got a good look at the both of you, Tubbo was still in his footie pajamas and you had officially bled through your bandages. “Who did it.”

“Technoblade please-”

“Who. Hurt. You.”

“I’m so tired, please just go get your dad.” You pleaded locking your eyes with his own, they softened considerably before muttering under his breath.

“Fine. But I’m getting Wilbur to look at your horn.” He demanded marching away from the door, you gently urged Tubbo inside and you both sat down on their couch. Tubbo yawned sleepily and leaned against your side,

“You can go to sleep. You’re safe now Bumblebee.”

“But you’ll be gone when I wake up…” He held Mr. Bumble closer to his chest and you brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I want you to have Mr. Bumble!” Tubbo held the toy out to you, your lips dipped into a little frown.

“Tubs he’s your favorite-

“He protected me from dad. So I’m sure he’ll protect you too.” You wanted to sob as you took the bee from his hands, you were going to say something else when Phil and Wilbur walked into the room. Phil gave you a pitying smile, before calling Tubbo over to him.

“Hey mate. Let’s get you settled into the guest room for now yeah?” The older man smiled at your brother and he nodded sleepily walking over to Phil. He gave you a look that said we’ll talk later as Wilbur walked over to you, the frown on his face was rock solid.

“You gonna explain yourself?” He scolded you like a parental figure would, you bit your lip and shook your head. Wilbur sighed the bags under his eyes were dark and you murmured a soft apology. He reached out and took your cheek in his palm, he leaned close and you felt his breath on his lips. You felt your cheeks turn pink and he leaned in...to take a better look at your horn.

God, you were so stupid why did you think he was going to kiss you just now?

“Jesus Christ…” He murmured as he unwrapped your wound gently. “They fucked you up honey,” Wilbur said softly, his voice dripping with pure concern, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright...It’ll get better.” You smiled a tight-lipped smile that only caused Wilbur’s eyes to flash with pure rage, “Seriously Will. Please just let it go.”

“I’ll never understand you.” He muttered grumpily, much like his brother did when he greeted you at the door. “How can you not want justice for what they did to you? I don’t understand-” Wilbur blinked a few moments pulling away from you, you refused to meet his eyes. “-Did your dad do this to you?” He saw the fear spark in your eyes, “that fucking piece of shit! TECHNO!”

“Wilbur please no- no please he didn’t mean too he was drunk!” You slapped your hands over your mouth and he looked at you with horror. “Wilbur please don’t do anything he didn’t mean to do it, I have to look out for him!” Your breathing got short and rapid, immediately Wilbur felt bad for being so aggressive, “He’ll die without me.”

“It’s not your job to look after your father.” Wilbur looked at you with pity,

“Yes, it is. He’s my family.”

“Family doesn’t do this to you.” He motioned to your missing horn, the motion now made you feel wildly self-conscious, “they don’t hurt you.” You bit the bottom of your lip so hard it began to bleed,

“Just don’t tell Technoblade. He’ll kill him. You know he will, I don’t want that.” Wilbur didn’t look happy about the situation but he agreed reluctantly, but only if you stayed the night alongside Tubbo. You told him you would,

But you’re a liar.

Phil came back into the room a little later and asked to talk to you privately. He asked you what was going on and you explained the entire situation to him, practically pleading for him to take your baby brother in while you got Schlatt under control. Phil of course agreed, but he was not happy about you going back to your dad, especially since you were already injured. You assured him all would be okay, your dad meant well and with Tubbo out of the house, you can put all your energy into fixing him.

Phil let you go that night, and he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

No one in the Minecraft household heard from you again after that night. You seemed to slip out of everyone's memory, Wilbur met Sally and she and his son consumed his life. Technoblade moved out of the house to spread his wings, and the only person who even seemed to care that you were missing was Tubbo. Yet, even so, you began to slip out of his memory too, barely remembering your face. It broke him to pieces that he couldn’t remember his sister, and when he asked Wilbur about you the man's memory was just as fuzzy. The only thing he had was the letters the both of you sent back and forth to one another, he’d gifted them to Tubbo after he discovered them again under his childhood bed. Tubbo thought that maybe, just maybe, word of their new nation would cause you to come out of hiding.

It didn’t.

Eventually, he had to leave his memory of you behind and focus on helping Tommy and Wilbur. He hoped wherever you were you were proud of him, you wouldn’t want him to be miserable and dwell on you, you’d want him to live.

When he saw his father upon the podium the day of the election all he wanted to do was confront him about you, but there were other things to worry about like the fact that Wilbur and Tommy had just gotten exiled. Schlatt died before he got to ask about you, then right after that Wilbur died by Phil’s hand and everything was blown to shit, he had Tommy and that was all he needed.

Wilbur woke up to the soft chirping of birds and an angel sitting on a hillside. He couldn’t feel the grass under his palms or his heartbeat, but he felt something warm flood through him when he saw the angel. She turned towards him, his memory of her was fuzzy but her name wasn’t, “(Y/n)?”

“Hi Wilby, long time no see.” You smiled softly, both horns were missing but your soft ears twitched eagerly.

“Where...are we?” Wilbur whispered walking over to you to sit by your side, “What happened to you?”

“I lost another horn being stupid. Died from an infection while dad was away on a trip.” You pulled your legs close towards your chest, “you’re dead Will. We’re dead. It’s been quiet here for so long.”

“Dead…” He breathed out the negative memories flooding into his brain; he squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Are we ghosts?” You shrugged your shoulders,

“I don’t know, never tried to...go back,” Wilbur watched as you ran your hand through the grass even though Wilbur knew you couldn’t feel it. “Tubbo would be disappointed in me. So upset I died, I’d rather he not know. Makes it easier on everyone I think.” You turned to him, hair falling in your eyes, they were empty and your skin was so pale, he couldn’t imagine what he looked like in comparison. “Are you going to go back?” You spoke again after a few moments of silence, there was a tense atmosphere that filled the room, you didn’t want to be lonely.

“If you’re here, that’s where I’m going to stay. At least for a little while.” Wilbur looked at you, your eyes wide with shock, a brilliant smile spread across your cheeks.

“Promise?”

“With all my heart honey.”

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Wishmaker

Goddamn it... 

It's bad enough Astruc tastelessly axed Lukanette, but now he just had to show up to give a sarcastic eulogy at the funeral.

Let's get into the fourteenth (chronologically the eighteenth) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Wishmaker

Right out of the gate, we get a “Chloe bad” joke with her insulting Marinette for being poor or whatever as she hands out flyers for an upcoming career fair. Chloe doesn't have much of a role in the episode, but she will be important towards the end, trust me. We also get a funny “Marinette stares lovingly at Adrien” joke while she sees him, so it's good the writers are at least trying to get their strange habits out of their systems now instead of later.

While reading over the flyer in his room, Adrien ponders a possible career as he doesn't want to keep being a model.

(The episode came out in English first, so I'm just going to be using quotes instead of screenshots of subbed scenes for this review)

Plagg: Don't you wanna continue to model?

Adrien: I don't think so, Plagg. I'm doing it now because my father asked me to. But now I realize I don't know what I'd want to do. I've never asked myself that question.

This is a really interesting dilemma for Adrien. Unlike other episodes that just have him feel sad for entirely superfluous reasons like Ladybug turning him down or generally moping about his mom, it feels like something you can really understand. He genuinely isn't sure what he wants to do with his life because he's had everything chosen for him before. I also like the use of the English dub saying Adrien modeled because his father asked him to, as if he couldn't actually say no. I also like how Adrien is still starting to lose faith in Ladybug for giving out Miraculous to everyone, which makes even more sense after his view of her was shaken in the previous episode chronologically, “Rocketear”. I also like how Plagg suggests ideas for a career for Adrien, like the two of them opening up a cheese shop together, which shows how Plagg cares for Adrien and wants what's best for him, ultimately highlighting how healthy their relationship is. He's almost like a big brother who gives advice to Adrien, even if it isn't the most sound advice at times.

On the other hand, Marinette already knows what she wants to do with her life, but the Kwamis start to argue over what she actually means by it by saying they know what she wants to do, a painfully accurate metaphor for the writers dictating Marinette's actions no matter how inconsistent they are.

Pollen: What's a career, dear Guardian?

Marinette: Oh. Well, it's... your job! Something really important that you do and gives meaning to your life!

Roaar: Oh! So, your job is being the Guardian of the Miraculous!

Mullo: Of course not! It's being a student!

Xuppu: Not at all! It's making presents for Adrien!

Marinette:Well...

Longg: She said “something important”, like when she crafted the big doll house to hide the Miracle Box!

Wayzz: Or when she designed the alarm for this room! What a masterpiece!

Marinette: Sure, I love crafting but—

Ziggy: You guys don't get it! What gives meaning to her life is to be in love with Adrien, or Luka, that's her job!

Fluff: Luka's the one with the guitar, right?

Kaalki: Her real career is being Ladybug and carve her name in history by her glorious deeds, of course!

Of course, their bickering somehow makes Marinette realize she isn't sure what she wants to do in the future after all.

We then cut to a reality show hosted by TV personality, Alec Cataldi. He's generally an asshole to the people on the shows he hosts and takes pleasure in humiliating or just being a dick to them, making you wonder how he still gets work with that attitude. Basically, he's the Alec Baldwin of the Miraculous Ladybug universe. The current show he's hosting is one where he roasts people for their jobs, making Andre a target by pointing how counterproductive his “business” is.

Alec: Here's a perfect example: Andre, the Ice Cream Maker, the ice cream man that is never around! Let me remind you how this goes: Andre doesn't have a shop, no one knows where he is, it takes forever to find him, and he gets to pick a flavor of your ice cream! You've gotta be kidding, Andre! Give me one reason why I should bother to chase after you when I could get my choice of ice cream in any corner supermarket!

Andre: Well, people don't just come for ice cream when they find me. They come to share their love and experience of magical moments! A supermarket cannot do what I do! I am a creator of magical moments!

Alec: “Creator of magical moments?” You've gotta be kidding!

I'm pretty sure that's what a lot of people thought of Andre when they first saw “Glaciator”. The idea behind Andre is that he chooses ice cream for you representing something about yourself, so he gives Alec a scoop of lime to represent his sour exterior and chocolate cinnamon to represent the dreams he still has within. Alec flinches a little at the ice cream, presumably because of how terrible of a combination that is, and decides to go to commercial to think.

Marinette talks to Andre about what he does, and he explains he used to be an office worker, with the only highlight of his days being making ice cream for himself after work. It eventually inspired him to quit his job and start making ice cream for everyone. It's a nice backstory, and I think a lot of people watching who are struggling to think about their future can relate to this like with the earlier scene with Adrien. It's also a nice touch for the flashbacks to reveal Andre has served ice cream to some of France's most famous couples.

(Jean Coutau and Jean Marais)

(Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin)

(Marion Cotillard and Guillaume Canet)

Granted, I'm wondering how old Andre is to have even met some of these people given Jean Cocteau died in 1963, but seeing how Master Fu is 186, I'm guessing the Miraculous Ladybug universe just has really good healthcare. Either that, or the people in this universe take Jay Kordich's diet very seriously.

Andre gives some ice cream to Marinette, who is soon joined by her ex-boyfriend who she never loved according to the writers. Actually, judging from her face when Luka talks about the very first guitar he made, the writers made another 180 regarding Marinette's feelings for Luka.

Of course, because the show wants to remind the audience Alec still exists, he makes fun of Luka for taking two years to perfect the delicate craftsmanship it takes to sculpt any instrument when you can just download an app on your phone. Your inner boomer is showing, writers, even if you were born after the time period for that generation. Luka retorts with some vague philosophical line he's known for that's one of the reasons why people are so mixed on him as a character

Luka: Musical instruments fill the space and space fills the instruments. No phone in the world will ever be able to do that.

Despite it being incredibly confusing, it gets to Alec, causing him to run off in tears. Luka and Marinette continue to talk, but it turns out that's Adrien decided to sit down nearby because of course he did. Though, like the last scene, it's a pretty interesting one as the three discuss what they want to do with their lives. There's also a really nice visual of a blimp with an ad Adrien was in passing by while Adrien talks about his father dictating his life, a really nice symbol. Of course, the scene is somewhat ruined by Luka suddenly deciding to be an Adrienette shipper.

Luka: You two will eventually find what's already in front of you, but you can't hear it clearly. Just let the melody flow.

He's referring to their uncertainty of their futures, but earlier on, Luka wanted to help Marinette be honest with her feelings about Adrien, and even before that, Andre was saying that Marinette and Luka didn't have to be in love to enjoy his magic ice cream. It's here when I realized this episode is subtly trying to end any chances of Lukanette still happening with so many little details. Right when the two spend time together, that's when they decided to help Adrien who showed up for no reason, preventing them from potentially coming to terms with their feelings for each other or at the very least discuss how hard it is to be friends with their history. And things only get more frustrating towards the end, where you'd swear someone decided to smother Lukanette with a pillow in its sleep.

Back to Alec, he's roasting a wig salesman (does he even have permission to film any of these people?) for his job, but as soon as the salesman puts a wig on him, Alec immediately gives us his life story.

Alec: When I was a kid, I used to have long hair, but everyone made fun of me. That's why I shaved it all off. I've been making the wrong choices my whole life. My TV shows are nothing personal. I make fun of people when they make fun of me when I was a kid. (Starts to tear up) I should've been the person I always wanted to be, trying to change the world instead of mocking it! (Falls on his knees) I've wasted my life!

I didn't paraphrase this at all. This is seriously what happened. He goes from mocking everyone he meets, to slightly doubting himself after seeing an ice cream vendor and a young musician, and then he starts having an existential crisis about his tragic backstory. It's not a bad idea, but if there was some more buildup in previous episodes, I'd understand. But this goes from confusing to straight out insulting towards the end. I'll get to that later on.

Shadowmoth notices Alec's emotions and akumatizes him into Wishmaker through his microphone.

Wishmaker has a pretty cool design. The grey skin color coupled with the mostly black outfit really highlights Alec's broken heart, and he looks pretty sinister. His powers... leave a lot to be desired.  Like the name states, Wishmaker has the power to make everyone's childhood dreams come true, like this one guy's dream is to be Santa Claus, so he transforms into Saint Nick without any hitch. Wouldn't it make more sense if Wishmaker twisted the dreams of his victims like a genie and made them miserable while they ironically lived out their fantasies by twisting around their words? Instead, all of his “victims” seem pretty happy, which doesn't really do much to make him a threat in my opinion.

So the aforementioned Santa starts dropping presents like bombs near Marinette, Adrien, and Luka, and they're separated by a giant robot. Marinette quickly transforms into Ladybug, and gets Luka to safety, though as soon as she leaves, Luka goes to check on where he told Marinette to stay for safety, and doesn't see her there. Instead, he sees his deadbeat father (transformed into a crocodile) drowning and goes to save him.

Ladybug meets up with Cat Noir (who transformed off-screen) and the two easily incapacitate the robot before engaging Wishmaker, avoiding his blasts. Apparently, they'll get their secret identities revealed if they get hit, so Ladybug goes to get Luka to help out as Viperion while Cat Noir holds off Wishmaker. Ladybug goes to get Luka, leading to the funniest joke in the episode.

She gives Luka the Snake Miraculous and he transforms into Viperion, immediately activating his Second Chance. For newcomers, Second Chance allows the user to set a point in time when activating it and if something goes wrong, they can go back to that checkpoint in up to five minutes. Ladybug also summons her Lucky Charm, a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Back with Cat Noir, as he engages Wishmaker, the Akuma starts to tempt him with the idea of living out his childhood dream, because he genuinely doesn't remember his. As Shadowmoth orders Wishmaker to use his powers on Cat Noir, Ladybug and Viperion show up, but in the chaos of the fight, Ladybug gets hit by Wishmaker, revealing her childhood dream as the “Knitting Fairy”, and exposes her identity to Viperion, who uses Second Chance to undo the timeline.

In the new timeline, Cat Noir's vulnerability gets to him, so he willingly lets himself get his by Wishmaker, not only exposing his identity as Adrien, but tragically reveals his childhood dream, to be whatever his parents wanted him to be. I feel like this works a lot better than some of the other moments where Cat Noir defied orders or screwed around on the battlefield because it's clearly framed as a moment of weakness on his part, and it was naturally built up over the course of the episode. The reveal of Adrien's childhood dream is a real gut punch too, as it shows just how much Adrien's life has been controlled by his family.

In the third timeline, Viperon deflects Wishmaker's blast meant for Cat Noir and redirects it toward a man whose childhood dream was to become a giant stuffed dinosaur. The stuffed dinosaur in question goes to give Wishmaker a hug, restraining him long enough for Ladybug to steal for Cat Noir to cataclysm (It's a microphone, how hard is it to break???) before she de-evilizes the Akuma. Ladybug uses Miraculous Ladybug to force everyone to stop living out their childhood dreams, she gives Alec a Magical Charm, and Luka decides not to tell Ladybug he knows both her and Cat Noir's secret identities. Why did Ladybug expect Luka not to know her identity when the whole reason she recruited him was to make sure nobody else found out her identity?

Now, while it isn't outright said, it's hinted at that now that Luka knows Marinette is Ladybug and Adrien is Cat Noir, judging from his dejected look after finding out the latter, he may be giving up on all attempts at the idea of getting back together with Marinette, and may or may not start shipping the Love Square now, just like how Kagami decided to ship Adrienette in “Mr. Pigeon 72”. I'm not saying the idea of Luka knowing someone's identity is bad, but it feels like this only happened specifically to stop him from having feelings for Marinette because now he knows Adrien loves her alter ego, and vice versa. Maybe it'll be touched upon in a later episode, but this was just a dick move by the writers in terms of ending all chances of Lukanette like this in order to ensure the Love Square has absolutely no competition.

So the episode ends with Marinette and Adrien deciding to focus on their futures while Alec starts a new show where he helps people live out their childhood dreams, albeit dressed like Style Queen for some reason.

Eh, he still picked a pretty cool Akuma to dress up as in my opinion. A lot of people have viewed this ending as evidence Alec is a drag queen with how he dressed up, coupled with the fact that he said something that was very similar to famous drag queen RuPaul.

Alec: And now, we're gonna love one another, starting with everyone loving themselves! Because how are you gonna love other people if you don't love yourself?

Though Astruc, being Astruc, once again decided to be vague when asked about the subject on Twitter, though at least the subtext is better than when he said he didn't make Juleka and Rose girlfriends because of censors while making it seem like a noble act.

Overall, this was a really good episode, though there were some underlying issues that really kept me from actually liking it. For the most part, it had some good drama with the main character, a rare scene where Marinette didn't stammer around Adrien, a creative (albeit flawed) Akuma with some good action, and an interesting idea with Luka knowing everything about the Love Square now.

There are just two big problems that really got to me about this episode. Let's get the obvious one out of the way, Luka. Honestly, he really didn't need to be in the episode. Sure, he gave some sound advice to Marinette and Adrien about their careers, but it felt kind of strange to see someone their age talking to them about their future when Andre, someone who actually had experience struggling to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, was pushed to the side. And like I said earlier, I think the only reason Luka found out about Marinette and Adrien's identities was to discourage him from thinking about getting back together with Marinette. After all, now that he realizes how “made for each other” they are, he can't stand in the way of the Love Square.

The problem is that in the context of the episode, we don't really see what made him see things that way. At least in “Mr. Pigeon 72”, Kagami consistently viewed Marinette's attempts to get her and Adrien back together as a subconscious desire to be with Adrien. It was dumb with how she decided to go to Team Adrienette at the end of the episode, but it was something. I'm glad the episode didn't force in too many Love Square shenanigans, but I think more should have been done to contextualize Luka's feelings towards the reveal. I get the writers wanted to make sure Lukanette had no chance of coming back, but this just feels rushed.

And then there's Alec's redemption arc. While it's not a bad idea in concept, the problem is that it flies in the fact of a recurring theme this season, that being redemption. Because, here's the funny thing: Alec blatantly said he became an asshole TV personality because of his history of bullying, and decided to retaliate as a result, but he eventually saw the error of his ways and turned over a new leaf. For long time readers of this blog, I apologize for bringing this up yet again, but what exactly makes this different from everything Astruc said about Chloe? You know, when he said that you make your formative choices when you're fourteen? Just like how Alec decided to become a reality TV host making fun of people after a troubling experience from when he was a kid?

Let's say that I agree with Astruc's views about Chloe. How is Alec different from what Astruc's said about Chloe for almost two years at this point? What makes Chloe, someone who was the victim of a troubled childhood who never got help, an irredeemable monster while Alec, someone who also had a troubled childhood and had even more time to get help while never getting any, capable of change? I thought he Alec made a formative choice when he was young and stuck with it, just like how Chloe started to fully develop at the age of fourteen. I mean, Astruc, you yourself said that Chloe's troubled childhood “was no excuse to treat people like shit”, according to you.

I'm just saying, dude, if Chloe can't be redeemed because of the stuff you yourself said, then that shouldn't apply to Alec either. When you really think about it, it's almost like Astruc either made up a bunch of excuses to not redeem Chloe, or he's a massive hypocrite for going back on his word. You can't really justify this kind of hypocrisy relating to Alec's redemption when you remember just how much of a hardass Astruc was when explaining why redemption was impossible for Chloe.

This coupled with the treatment of Luka really drags this episode from really good to blatantly insulting to certain viewers. Then again, these two choices just got to me personally. I feel like if those two things weren't there, things could have made this episode a lot better for me personally. I can see why a lot of people in the fandom still like this episode, but I'm honestly not a fan of it.